Better call the doctor
by Clavyus
Summary: This is a slow burn AU Brucas fic. Lucas is a thirty two year old surgeon, smart, kind and serious. Brooke is a nineteen year old party girl, who's never been in love. She doesn't understand what's happening when she can't stop thinking about the odd doctor from the apartment above. He thinks she is just a kid, out to have some fun.
1. Chapter 1

AN: This is a slow burning Brucas fic, AU. At the beginning Lucas is a thirty-two year old surgeon, beginning a new job at Mount Sinai hospital, a fellowship in Orthopedic Surgery under Callie Torres. She is blatantly stolen from Grey's Anatomy. (To be honest, they tossed her away last season, and I'm just recycling. She is a great character.) His story follows closely the OTH storyline, except that there was no Brooke. He dated Peyton for two years in high school, and proposed at the end of first year in college. She turned him down and they broke up. Years later Lucas went to work in LA for a year and reconnected with Peyton. They dated for six months and then he caught her cheating. That was three months before the beginning of the fic, so Lucas is still hurting. This Lucas is a sweet, caring guy, but he never learned to have fun. He is deeply reserved and really protective of his own heart. Brooke in this fic shows up in a couple of chapters, sharing and apartment with Rachel. She is nineteen, grew up in California, and she is still very much a party girl. She is coming to New York to attend Parsons and to work an internship at Victoria's Secret. She never started Clothes-over-Bros and never fell in love. In fact, she believes herself incapable of falling in love. So, you imagine her surprise with the strange feelings that begin to plague her concerning the weird doctor in the apartment above. Specially when he is sweet with her and completely refuses to take her seriously...

Chapter 1

It's a fifty block walk, from the hotel to the hospital. It's early July, and hot as an oven. I could have taken the subway, but instead, I feel I need to get used to the idea of living in New York, and that means walking. My appointment is at nine, so I decided to leave the hotel at seven-thirty. First, I stop at a coffee house, and have an iced cappuccino and a blueberry muffin. I take the time to flirt with the barista, a lively green-eyed twentysomething brunette with agile hands. I seriously think of asking for her number, but decide I'd better focus on more practical matters like my new job, finding a home and furnishings for the next few days. It surprises me a bit to find the name Izzy, and a number, written small neat letters under my own name in the cup. I look up and smile at her, and I note she was watching me, and smiles right back. A very pretty smile. I send her a text.

 _"What time u free?"_

 _"Six."_

 _"Dinner and drinks?"_

 _"Y ;)"_

 _"C u then. xx"_

 _"C u xox"_

She blows me a kiss as I leave. I make a note, Starbucks, fifth and east seventy eight. Not a bad beginning to New York life, I hope.

As I keep walking, my mind wanders to the recent past. Recently, a three week rest, in sleepy Tree Hill, beginning with the fifteenth birthday party of my nephew Jamie and my sister Lilly. I used the time to catch up with my mother and my friends and write. I have a half-finished manuscript in my computer that will make my editor's dance with joy. It's been nearly three years since the last one, and my books tend to make a lot of money. Before Tree Hill, I had spent one year working towards a sports medicine certification at the UCLA medical center. I also spent six months dating my old high school flame Peyton, a beautiful, temperamental blonde, and a senior partner at Sire records. That crashed and burned last March, when an unexpected return from a trip rewarded me with the sight of my girlfriend naked in bed with a young, heavily tattooed rock star. Pretty barista is going to be my first date since.

I walk through the entrance hall and ask directions to the office of the Chief of Surgery. I arrive about five minutes to nine and I'm asked to sit, that Dr. Marsh will be available shortly. Five minutes later a short blonde woman in her fifties, skinny, with a thin severe mouth and kind eyes steps out of the Chief's office. She instructs the secretary. "Please have Dr. Torres report to my office stat?" Dr. Torres is Dr. Calliope Torres, Head of Orthopedic Surgery, my mentor and immediate boss for the next three years.

We enter her office, a fine wood-paneled room, with a large bookcase behind her desk, a wall of pictures and awards and a sofa to one side. She sits behind her desk and steeples her fingers, and I sit in one of the chairs across her desk.

"You must be Dr. Lucas Scott." She looks at me and, somehow, approves what she sees. I'm wearing dark jeans, a white short sleeve button down shirt and gray running shoes. I have my hair buzz cut nearly into nonexistence, and a small black backpack at my feet, with my whole life inside.

"Yes m'am."

"I'm Olivia Marsh, Cardiotoraxic surgeon and Chief of surgery at this hospital. I would like to welcome you to the staff of Mount Sinai."

"Thank you, m'am. It's a pleasure to be here."

"Have you signed your contract yet?"

"No m'am." She picks up a folder in front of her and studies it a bit.

"I understand your fellowship is partially funded by the Knicks. This means you have a part time appointment at their medical department, and you'll have an office at their facility in Tarrytown. You will supervise surgical care and post-surgical rehabilitation for the Knicks athletes, and you will either perform or assist in any of their surgeries, as Dr. Torres directs. We have a substantial medical services contract with the Knicks, and you will be our liason with them. This also means keeping current on developments concerning the surgical and non-surgical care of high performance athletes. You'll have a budget for attending conferences and you are expected to participate in research and publish original work. Any questions so far?

"No m'am."

"Have you been to Tarrytown yet? Have you talked with Dr. Phillips?" Dr. Phillips is the head of the Knicks medical department, and my other boss for the next three years and Tarrytown is where the Knicks training facility is located. It's about twenty miles north of here.

"No m'am. I have an appointment there tomorrow morning."

"Do you know how to get there?"

"They're sending a car."

She purses her lips. "Of course they are." I guess Dr. Marsh doesn't entirely approve of my situation here. "Normally, surgical fellows are required to take part in E.R. rotation, with at least one twenty-four hour turn per week. Given the specifics of your contract, you are not required to do it, but it might be a good idea anyways. Would you be interested?"

"I do not know yet how much of my time will be taken by the work with the Knicks, but I would like to keep myself current on emergency work. I also expect to participate on other surgical cases, at Dr. Torres convenience. I've studied her work on prosthetic, and I'm looking forward to learning from her. Please, give me a few weeks to get a grip on my obligations, and I'll get back to you on that."

She nods in approval. I find myself liking this woman, despite her lack of enthusiasm for my job here. I understand a lot of very smart, decent people think professional sports is a frivolous activity, corrupted by too much money and attention. They are not wrong. I love the game, but I don't like what all that money does to it. My job is to advocate and care for the athletes, not the interests of the team, and I made that clear to Dr. Phillips when I interviewed with him. I assume my being offered the job means Dr. Phillips supports my position. And I hope Dr. Marsh will understand that in time. There's a knock on the door, and a gorgeous late thirties latina with a huge smile walks in. I know from photographs this is Dr. Calliope Torres, but I wasn't prepared for the sheer presence of the woman.

"Callie, meet Dr. Lucas Scott, your new fellow."

I get up. She shakes my hand. She's got large, strong hands and a firm handshake. I get the impression of huge physical power, tightly under control. A vibe I usually get from athletes, not doctors. I also note the wedding band in her left ring finger.

"It's very nice to meet you, Dr. Scott." She doesn't meet my eyes. Shy?

"Please call me Lucas. It's an honor, Dr. Torres. I'm looking forward to working under you."

She laughs a bit, and still doesn't meet my eyes. She is nervous. "I will, if you call me Callie." I exchange a glance with Dr. Marsh, and I see fondness and respect in her eyes, together with a bit of exasperation. "I've read your paper on recovery from MCL knee injury, Lucas, and I really liked it. I think we can learn from each other."

"Thank you, Callie. I've read about your work with prosthetics, and I'm sure I can learn a lot from you." I touch her arm as I speak, and she flinches a bit, but then she finally meets my eyes and I smile softly at her. Finally she relaxes a bit and smiles back. I confess I'm rather captivated by my new boss. She turns to Dr. Marsh. "Is there anything else, Olivia? I'd like to show him around, if that's ok."

"Well, Dr. Scott needs to get squared away at Human Resources. Why don't you take him there, and you can show him Ortho afterwards. There's one other thing." She directs herself to me. "Due to your joint appointment, you have more responsibilities, and you make more money, than most of our junior attendings. I expect a level of performance compatible with that. In particular, this is a teaching hospital, and I hope you will commit yourself to that aspect of out work, fully engaging in the training of our surgical interns and residents. They will regard you as one of the attendings. Please, familiarize yourself with that aspect of your duties, and talk with Dr. Maynard Boyd, head of our residence program, about the details. As of this moment, you have full OR privileges at Mount Sinai. Dr. Torres will help you with assigning surgical teams, but, other than that, you're on your own. I hope you enjoy working here."

"I'm sure I will. Thank you Dr. Marsh."

"Thank you, Dr. Scott. And I'll see you later, Callie."

Callie takes me to Human Resources. "Let's meet for lunch, Lucas, around half past noon at the cafeteria. I'll introduce you around."

"That's perfect. Thanks."

"Listen. I'm placing a hip prosthesis this afternoon at four. Thirty-year-old male, car accident fracture. Would you mind assisting? Just to get your feet wet."

"It would be a pleasure. How complex?"

"Open and shut. Just an acetabulum crack. We should be done by five thirty, six, barring complications. After lunch we'll go over the case, and we go see the patient."

"Very well Callie. It's a date." That yields a broad flirty smile. Past the shy, there's a world of sexy.

 _"I'm sorry. :( something came up. Rain check?"_

 _"Drinks at 9?"_

 _"Where?"_

 _"O'Donnells. 63rd near 3rd."_

 _"C U there."_

 _"xox"_

We're adjusting the prosthesis to its emplacement, before screwing it in place. Callie is an incredible surgeon, perhaps the best I've ever seen. She's fast, precise and her mind is greased lightning. It's going to be a joy working with her. A phone rings in the OR, and one of the scrub nurses answers it. "Dr. Torres, you're are being paged to the ER stat. Severe crush injury."

She looks at me. "Do you mind finishing it?"

"Go ahead. I can handle it from here."

"Please, come looking for me before you leave."

"Will do, boss."

"Don't call me that."

I smile at her under the mask. "Whatever you want, boss."

"I think I'm going to enjoy working with you."

I'm pretty sure she will. "We aim to please,... boss."

She leaves the OR giggling.

I finish the procedure a little past six, and after taking care of the post-op recommendations, I change out of the scrubs and I go hunting for Callie. I find her at radiology, looking and a set of scans. "Ouch! That must have hurt." She is looking at a severy crushed pelvis. "What happened?"

"Construction accident. An I-beam fell of the guy. I'm going to try a mesh reconstruction, and some special prosthesis. You in?"

I look at the scans again. This is going to be half a dozen surgeries. "You betcha. When are you starting?"

"I need to put together a plan and build the mesh. Will you be here tomorrow?"

"I have a meeting at the medical department of the Knicks tomorrow morning. I can probably come back in the afternoon."

"Very well, text me when you know what time you'll be here. We need to stabilize him as soon as possible, so, first surgery the day after tomorrow. I have a fourth year resident doing a below-the-knee amputation tomorrow afternoon. I'd love it if you could assist. It's scheduled for three."

"Push it to six and I'll be here."

"All right. See you tomorrow, then."

"Lucas."

"What?"

"It's the second time you looked at your watch. What's the rush?"

"Eh... I have a date."

"I thought you got here yesterday."

"It's the barista from the coffee shop I had breakfast today."

She slaps my back and smiles. "Good job! She cute?"

I stare at her for a second. "What am I thinking? Of course she's cute. I want details tomorrow."

I'm already more comfortable with Callie than with people I've known for years. "Nothing is going to happen, Boss.. It's just a first date."

"So? You have to keep yourself open for the possibilities..."

I laugh. "Bad break-up, too recent. Still sore."

"Then I'm glad to see you back in the saddle." She looks into my eyes. "Very cute." I nod.

"Would you come to my place for dinner on Friday? My partner is a great cook and I suspect my daughter will like you."

"How old is she?"

"Six, going on sixty."

"Do you have a picture?"

She shows me a picture of this pretty little brunette "Meet Sofia."

"Cute."

"You remind me a bit of her father, in a sort of quiet way."

"What happened to him?"

"He died before she was born. One of the Seattle Grace Five. His name was Mark."

Everybody in the medical community heard of that story. "I'm sorry. I have a fifteen-year-old sister whose father died before she was born. She still cries sometimes, when she thinks nobody is looking."

"I'm not sure how much she thinks of him. But he would have been a great father."

I stand a bit there, thinking of Keith. He was a great father. "I have to go."

"Bye, Lucas."

"Bye, Boss."

I get to the bar with about five minutes to spare. I took the subway back to the hotel, got a quick shower, a shave and changed into tan slacks, a light blue polo shirt and nice black leather shoes and walked to the bar. It's a nice place, with a long wooden counter, some high tables and booths, and an old-fashioned jukebox at the corner. A sparse Monday night crowd of lost souls and neighborhood habituals grace the place. I sit at one of the high tables and order a beer and a burger. She arrives about fifteen after, perfectly in time with the last bite of my burger. She is wearing a short dark green dress, her thick dark hair in soft curls, large silver hoop earrings black stockings and short black boots with three inch heels. Very, very cute.

I wave at her, and she smiles when I catch her eyes. She draws near, and I stand up to greet her.

"Hi, Izzy. Glad to see you." I greet her with an air kiss, which she deftly maneuvers into a little kiss full on the lips. She smells of strawberry, with an undertone of coffee and cognac.

"Hi, Lucas. I'm happy to see you too." Her voice is a pleasant low register.

I pay attention to her. She is relaxed, eyes a little unfocused, coordination intact. I'd say, a couple of doses in the past hour or so. "I'm sorry about dinner. Something came up on my new job, and I couldn't get away. Did you eat?"

"No. Actually, I'm starving. Was the burger any good?"

"Adequate. You look very nice, by the way."

She preens a bit. "Thanks. You look good too."

She calls the waiter and asks for a mojito and the menu. Polite and dry. She's focosing all her flirting on me. And she is good at it too. I ask for another beer.

I can hear the new yorker in her speech, but I ask anyways. "Did you grow up around here?"

"Brooklyn. Blue collar all the way. My father was a plumber, drank himself into an early grave a few years ago. My mother still is an elementary school teacher, nearing retirement. You?"

"Small town in North Carolina. Raised by a single mother, small business owner. She lives there with her husband and my baby sister. Sorry about your father."

"I loved him, but I hated him. You know the feeling?"

"I guess I know what you mean. Any siblings?"

"One younger brother. Cop."

The waiter brings back our drinks and a menu for her. He waits, while she studies it a bit and orders a BLT. She returns the menu and turns to me with an embarrassed half-smile "Can we share a desert afterwards?"

"What do you have in mind?"

"Apple pie a la mode."

"Oh, you're on, girl." She gives me a bright smile that lights up the room. The big hurdle hasn't come up yet, but I begin to think she may be worth a second date.

She picks up my hand and starts to play with my fingers. Her fingers are long, thin and strong, with nails painted dark blue and cut short. "Did you think it was strange, giving you my number on the coffee cup?"

"Bold and decisive. Actually, I was debating with myself about asking your number. Do you do that often?"

Her voice raises in pitch a bit. "I never did it before. Two years working there. I've been asked out plenty of times, accepted twice. But I thought there was something different about you... You had never been there before, and I suspected that, if I didn't make a move, I'd never see you again."

"You know for a fact I hadn't been there before?"

She flushes and looks at the table, speaking in a near whisper. "I would have remembered."

She raises my hand to her mouth and caresses the tip of my index finger with her tongue. Then she lifts her eyes, and looking straight into mine with a mischievous glint, gently bites my finger right below the nail. There is no pain, and the answer comes immediately from my groin. I get up, go around the table and lift her chin, giving her a brief deep kiss, caressing her tongue with mine. Her lips are firm and sweet and she tastes of her mojito and a distant coffee accent. I sit back at my place, while the waiter brings out her sandwich. She is a charmless eater, taking big bites, chewing fast and talking, which is a refreshing change from most girls I know. Very soon she is done, and she asks for another mojito and the apple pie, with two spoons.

"Two years at Starbucks. What comes next?"

"I live with my mother, and I've been saving to open my own coffee shop. In six months I'll be there."

"That was my mother's small business. A little cafe and diner. It's a hard living."

"I know. The thing is, I hate these impersonal chains. I took business and hospitality classes in the community college, and I've been learning the practical side at Starbucks. I think I can make a good run at neighborhood cafe that everybody will love. I even have a location in mind."

"Well, you certainly seem to have it all figured out. Good luck with it."

"I know. I dream small..."

"No you don't. You dream of a small business which will make a whole neighborhood a better place to live That's a big dream in my book."

"Thanks." The apple pie arrives, and we begin eating it. "What about you? You haven't said a word about your work."

An here's the big hurdle. I think about lying, saying I'm an accountant, or a high school teacher, but what's the point? I sigh. "I'm a doctor."

"Really? What kind of doctor?"

"A surgeon. I fix bones, muscles and tendons. My new boss asked me to help repairing a hip bone this afternoon. That's why I had to cancel our dinner plans."

Suddenly she is tense and self-conscious. "Wow. A surgeon." She picks up my hand again and looks at it. "How long have you been doing it?"

"Six years. I trained in Pennsylvania and LA, and I just came to New York for a new job at Mount Sinai."

"Did you always want to be a doctor?"

"No. I grew up wanting to be a basketball player."

"Where you any good?"

"Better than good. But a hereditary heart defect killed my dream when I was in high school. That's when I begun to get interested in medicine, specially sports medicine. I found out I was really good with my hands and I ended up a surgeon."

"I'm so sorry."

"Well, don't be. I wouldn't trade surgery for the NBA these days. I get the same high in an OR that I used to get on the court, and I also help people."

The problem with being a doctor is that a perfectly suitable little fling candidate, which is all I can handle at the moment, suddenly becomes boyfriend, bring-him-to-mommy, husband material. I can see the change in little Izzy's demeanor, and I feel my beers churn in my stomach. And that's before they know the size of my bank account. Damn. I ask for the check, and pay. She can feel my loss of interest and looks confused.

"What? What did I do wrong?"

I give her a tired look. "You didn't do anything wrong, Izzy. I'm sorry. I had a long day, and I'm going to have an even longer day tomorrow. You're headed to Brooklyn?"

"I was planning to crash at a friend's house a few blocks away."

"Let me walk you, then." We walk slowly and in silence, until we reach the door of a four-story walk up.

"This is me."

"Thanks, Izzy. It was fun."

"Thanks, Lucas. I enjoyed myself too. Call me."

I give her a short sweet kiss in the lips. "Bye."

She opens the door and walks in, climbing the stairs without looking back. I hail a cab.

The Marriott Grand Marquis. Broadway and Forty-nine."

I sigh. It was fun.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The Tarrytown training facility is a sprawling set of low, nondescript buildings, housing the training center for three professional sports teams, the Knicks, Liberty, a woman's NBA team and the Rangers hockey team. Even inside, the place has the industrial, rough feel of a place where very serious stuff happens. I'm escorted to the Medical Staff office suite, and introduce myself to the admin assistant, a competent looking heavyset woman in her fifties, with hair dyed blonde.

"Good morning. I'm Lucas Scott, and I have a meeting with Dr. Phillips."

"Oh, yes. Dr. Scott. I'm Adele. I was told to get you settled. We've set aside an office for you here."

She gets up and walks me to a corridor. The last door on the right has a small blue plaque. "Dr. Lucas Scott, Sports medicine and surgery" She opens the door and hands me the key. Inside, a windowless space, about fifteen by fifteen feet, with a desk, a chair and an empty bookcase against a wall.

"You can request any furniture you like for your office."

"Thanks."

She hands me a fat envelope. "Here you have an Id card and a bunch of paperwork. I understand you are supposed to have a company car and a team credit card, but we will see about those later. Someone from personnel will come to walk you through the paperwork and someone from IT will set you up with a computer, touchpad and a company phone. You're supposed to tell me when you're done, so I can inform Dr. Phillips. There's pens and writing pads in the center drawer of your desk. Any questions?"

"Not at this time."

Dr. Raymond Phillips is a black man in his sixties, six foot five and built like a linebacker, salt-and-pepper hair cut to a stubble and a deep, booming voice. He is the head of the Medical Department for the Knicks, but also a vice president for the corporation that owns the three sports franchises that train in this facility. This means he is mostly a money and paper man, not a physician. I hear his laughter before he shows up at the open door of my office. "Hello, Lucas. It's good to see you again. I'd like you to meet Dr. Lauren Fisher, team orthopedist."

I shake her hand. She is a tall, angular blonde with deepset blue eyes and a dry, firm handshake. "Hello, Dr. Fisher, nice to meet you."

"Please call me Lauren." Her voice is a pleasant baritone. "Ray asked me to show you around, introduce you to the medical and the coaching staff. But, before that, we should discuss exactly what the team is expecting from you. We'll use a meeting room. And bring paper and a pen."

During the next hour, Lauren and Ray discuss in detail what is expected of me. Primarily, advise the athletes and the team on surgical procedures. Make sure that the most qualified surgeon is the one operating on valuable team athletes. Accompany procedures and supervise recovery. Advise on physical preparation and performance. Help evaluate potential new hires. I'm supposed to know the detailed medical history and the playing style of each member of the team. We discuss the best way of accomplishing these goals. For now, I'll spend three mornings per week here, familiarizing myself with the athletes and their training, getting to know the staff and the training regimen used and taking part on the weekly medical staff meetings. Finally, Lauren gives me a tour of the facilities and introduces me to the athletes and coaching staff during practice.

"So you're coming back tomorrow?"

"I'll be here tomorrow at eight. If you could give me access to the athlete's medical records, I would start with that."

"See you tomorrow, then. Bye"

Team cars are all large white sedans with the team logo painted at the side. I choose a newish GM, which still smells of sweat and cigarettes, and drive away. I send Callie a text, saying that I'll be arriving at three, and she writes back, telling me to go straight to OR 3 to assist in the foot amputation, and then look for her at the prosthesis lab to discuss the plan for the crushed pelvis.

When I get to the lab, Callie is right in the middle of assembling part of the mesh. It's exacting work, with tiny parts, so I stand in the doorway, just watching. After about twenty minutes she breathes in, and steps back, finally noticing me there. "Hey, Lucas."

"Boss."

She smiles. "How was the amputation?"

"It went well. The resident, Dr. Hua, got a little antsie at the middle, tying the arteries, but, with a little coaxing, it came out all right. Is he going into ortho?"

"No, thank goodness. He is just doing a rotation. There's a couple of residents that look like they might go into Ortho. I'll get them both to assist you at some procedure later. I'm opening up Mr. Contreras tomorrow for the first phase of his pelvis reconstruction. Two o'clock ok?"

"I'll be here." We get into a technical discussion of the procedures, in which I mostly listen. My own main area of expertise is motion, how the decisions of where you do the repairs, and how you attach the prosthesis will impact specific range and ease of motion. I make a couple of suggestions that might improve Mr. Contreras ability to climb over obstacles and pivot on one leg.

"So, how was the date yesterday?"

"It was fun. Just some kissing, mind you. There won't be a second one."

"Why? Boring?"

"No, she was pretty cool. It's just how they react to the word "doctor". All of a sudden everything turns serious."

"And all you want is some harmless fun."

"It's all I can handle. I'll get back to serious some other time."

I can see her eyes gleam with mischief. "Oh, no!"

"What? I haven't said anything."

"Please, don't set me up. I can find my own dates."

"Oh, come on! Can't a girl have some vicarious fun? I've been married too long."

I sigh. At least I can trust a smart lesbian to have good taste in women. "All right, Boss. Who do you have in mind?"

"There's this ER attending... she's recently divorced, and drop dead gorgeous."

"Fun?"

"Quiet and sarcastic. I get the sneaky feeling she's a firecracker in bed."

"All right. I guess I have nothing to lose."

My head is pounding like I have a road crew doing maintenance behind my eyes. The previous night comes slowly into focus, the beach, drinks, dancing, a sweet looking surfer boy... I'm not alone in bed. I get up slowly. Search about for some clothes. I find my black bikini bottom and a large surfer t-shirt, which, I presume, belongs to the cute blonde softly snoring in front of me. I look around, family pictures, blonde boy smiling between two blonde girls. I check the wastebasket and relax a bit, when I see two freshly used condoms at the bottom. I have to stop doing this to myself. It's not the boy. I remember him from last night, sweet and sexy. What annoys me, more than the headache, is that I can't remember the after-party fun.

I get out of the bedroom, into a corridor with a few closed doors. The next one along the wall is a closet, then an unused bedroom, then a bathroom. Bingo. I get in, do my stuff, hunt the cabinets and find a bottle of advil. I swallow two with tap water, brush my teeth with a bit of toothpaste and a finger, use mouthwash, and I look myself in the mirror. Hair is everywhere, so I brush my fingers along it, to give it some semblance of order, and tie it in a lover's knot. I wash my face, and I'm ready to face what comes next. I find my flip-flops on the corridor, which ends in the landing of a broad staircase. I pad down, find my shorts near the bottom of the stairs, and, thank goodness, my beach bag at a sofa. As I pick up my bag, the older blonde from the picture emerges from somewhere, looking chipper. "Hi, I'm Lucy. Matt's mother."

I squint at her. "Brooke." Her thin voice feels like ice-picks in my frontal lobe. At least now I know the dude's name.

"Can I offer you a cup of coffee, Brooke?"

"Sure." I follow her to the kitchen. She picks up a mug and looks at me. "Black, three sugars, please."

I'm halfway through the mug, and beginning to feel human when she speaks again. "You from around here?" I remember walking from the beach party, so I didn't go far.

"Just graduated from Palisades. Going to college in a few weeks."

"How do you know Matt?"

"Met him last night. Beach party. Sweet boy."

She smiles fondly. "That he is."

"I left my car at the beach parking lot at the end of Cedar."

"Turn left when leaving the house, walk three hundred yards. You'll see it."

"Please, thank Matt for the t-shirt. And thank you for the coffee."

"You're welcome, dear. Take care."

"You too." As far as walks of shame go, I've been through worse. The mother seemed pretty cool.

Car was where I left it. Day is definitely looking up. Drive to Starbucks, grab a blueberry muffin, a banana and an iced mocha. The advils are kicking in, and soon the carbs are doing their magic too. I'm going to spend a couple of hours in the gym this afternoon. School is out, and with it, daily cheer practice. Gotta keep the goods in shape. I drive home. Home is a large glass, steel and pale wood pile, which was once featured in Architectural Digest. I live alone. Cleaning crew comes once a week, I do laundry and whatever little cooking my meager skills allow. I haven't seen the parentals in six months, and I haven't spoken with them in two. My sole contact with them is the black Amex, which, by the way, is going to expire in a month. I don't expect to get a new one. I check the mail, and, aside from the usual junk, there's a thick, official looking envelope from Victoria's Secret, addressed formally to me. I'm curious, but I decide to get my act together before satisfying my curiosity. I take a stinging hot shower, dissipating the last vestiges of my hangover, brush my teeth and my hair.

I look in the mirror. Soft skin tanned slightly golden, long brown waves to the middle of my back, full perky breasts with large pink aureoles, tight abs, long shapely legs, a fine ass and just the suggestion of firm muscle everywhere. At five foot five, I'm too short and too well-nourished for a fashion model, but I can certainly give any centerfold a run for her money. I put on red lacy underwear, half cup, strapless push-ups and matching thongs. Over it, a light yellow summer dress, fitted at the waist and flaring out, stopping a couple of inches above my knees and showing a bit of cleavage. The color only works for me with the summer tan, but when it works, it looks very nice. Finally, white three-inch wedges and hoop earrings complete the ensemble. Who am I trying to impress? Nobody. I just enjoy looking good.

I open the envelope. " _Dear Miss Davis, I'm pleased to offer you one of our internships..._ " I scan the whole document. Legalese, bla, bla, bla... I have a week to accept. New York... Damn. Someone has a lot of explaining to do.

The front door is open, so I climb the stairs and go straight to her bedroom. And there she is. Naked, and all tangled with David Clifford. David is a linebacker, sweet, large as a door and dumb as a rock. He's going to South Dakota on a football scholarship, and, if injury and stupidity doesn't catch up with him first, an early pick for the NFL. I open the curtains, letting the midday sun into the room and speak loudly. "Hey! Skank. Mountain. Up, up, up. Get decent." I point a finger to the half awake redhead. "I need a word with you. Pronto! I'll be downstairs. Don't make me come back here and drag you down by those sorry-ass fake boobs of yours."

"I'd love to see you try, bitch. Why don't you go Brooke yourself, and let regular folk sleep in peace, you little whore?"

"I love you too, slut. Get. Right. Down." David is just waking up, looking lost. I blow him a kiss. "Good morning, Mountain."

"Oh, good morning, Brookie." He smiles. "Good to see you."

I busy myself making coffee, scrambling eggs and making toast while I wait. When they get down I place a mug and a plate in front of them and let them eat.

"Thank you for breakfast, Brookie. I'm going."

I give him a kiss in the cheek, and he gives Rachel a peck in the lips. "Bye, Red. I'll call you."

"Bye, gorgeous."

She turns to face me. "So?"

"Mountain? Again? What are you doing?"

She makes a grimace. "He's like comfort food, slut. Hung like a horse, likes to please, and I don't have to talk to him, before or after."

"He is falling for you, you cunt! You're gonna break the heart of one of the very few sweet, decent fellows in out class. With a long list of cast iron creeps for you to play with, you choose him?. I hate you, slut."

"I'm going to let him down easy, with his heart just a bit broken. I can guarantee that the next bitch that comes along will be much rougher. And maybe he'll have learned to protect himself a bit."

"All right, Miss Gattina, life coach extraordinaire. I came here for this." I slap the envelope at the counter. "What did you do?"

She opens the envelope and starts reading. Then she squeals and hugs me. "It worked! It worked! I knew it would."

"What did you do?"

"I have an acquaintance, a photographer, who works for Victoria's Secret. He saw me using one of your dresses, that red one, with the empire waist, and asked me where it was from. When I told him I had this friend, who made coutoure dresses for her classmates, he told me about these internships at Victoria's Secret design department. I made a little book, out of some of the stuff you've made and I sent it, together with an application for the internship in your name."

"Hmpf."

"You're welcome?"

"You should have told me."

"And you would have told me not to do it. Brooke, it's a job. Twenty hours per week, thirty eight a year, a two year contract, renewable for another two. And it's in New York. And you don't know the best part yet."

"What?"

"I'll be coming with you."

I scream. "What?"

"Yes. Last week I got an offer to join a big modeling agency in New York. We can share a decent place, and keep enough money for pretty dresses and shoes."

She is right. I was worried how I was going to support myself in New York with just my trust fund stipend. This is a dream job, and it will add enough money to the pot that I don't have to worry about my expiring Amex. "All right, slut. Good job. Thank you. This is going to be fun."

"So, do you think your little credit line will cover two round trip, first class tickets to the Big Apple?"

"What?"

"We're going apartment hunting, whore."

"Ah! Right. Good thinking. Yes. Go ahead and purchase the tickets."

"Lauren?"

"Oh, Hi Lucas. What is it?"

"I finished reviewing the players files. I've also looked at player performance statistics, and I have one point of concern. Leroy Markham. I want to request an MRI of his left forearm and hand."

"You noticed the loss in performance six months ago."

"Yes. I suspect small lesions in the wrist tendons may be causing weakness in the hand and wrist. Depending on what we see at the MRI, the problem may be fixable with a simple microsurgery."

"Would he be recovered in time for the season?"

"If what I suspect actually pans out, he might be back to his old performance in a month."

"All right, I'll send him to the hospital Monday afternoon. Will you be there?"

"Sure. Can I access his files from the hospital?"

"No. We need to set up secure external access to our medical files. I'll send an IT guy to the hospital with Markham on Monday to set it up."

"All right. I'll be here Monday morning."

Their home is about ten blocks from the hospital, in a very nice building facing the park. Either Callie or her girl have some family money. "Lucas Scott, for Callie Torres."

"You may go up. Apartment 11-B"

I knock on the door. A pretty redhead opens the door. "You're Lucas Scott. Nice to meet you. I'm Penelope Blake, but everybody calls me Penny."

"Lucas, pretty Penny."

She blushes. "She told me you were flirty."

"Hope I don't offend."

"Not at all. Just keep it up. She likes you a lot."

"I've gotten pretty fond of her too. She is the best part of the new job."

A little girl runs towards Penny. "Penny, Penny. Who's at the door...Oh!"

I squat in front of her. "You must be Sofia."

"My name is Sofia Robbin Sloan Torres, and I'm six!"

"That's a beautiful name Sofia Robbin Sloan Torres. I brought you a gift."

"A gift? Can I see?"

"Oh, yes. Here it is."

She pouts. "But this is a bottle!"

"It is? Oh, yes it is! I made a mistake Princess Sofia Robbin Sloan Torres. The bottle is not your gift. This is your gift."

She squeals "It's a tiara!"

"That's right. A Princess Tiara, for Princess Sofia. Do you like it?"

"I love it." She frowns. "What's your name?"

"I'm Lucas Eugene Crazy Horse Scott."

She giggles. "You're not Crazy Horse."

"You're right. I'm not Crazy Horse. You're a very smart little girl. And you can call me Lucas."

"Thank you Lucas! I love my tiara."

"I'm glad you do."

"She runs ahead yelling "Mommy, mommy. Lucas gave me a tiara..."

I get back up. "She's a doll."

"That she is. Come in. Callie and Allie are already here."

"Callie and Allie?"

Penny giggles. "I know."

We were standing in a hallway, which opens to a grand room, with a nice open plan kitchen, living room, dining room and a breakfast corner. The decor is modern chic, with Scandinavian furniture, surprisingly masculine in taste and feel. To break the somewhat stark feel of the room, there's girl toys everywhere. Callie and my "date" are sitting in the breakfast nook, sipping wine and talking in low tones.

Callie greets me with huge smile. "Hey, Lucas. Welcome. This is Allison." I kiss Callie's cheek and shake Allison's hand. My first impression is of a very pretty woman, late thirties, small boned, sharp features, poised and self-contained. She is a fair skinned brunette, short, shoulder length hair, beautifully arched eyebrows over large blue eyes shining with amusement and a very subtle smile. She is wearing tight black jeans and a white button down shirt with sleeves rolled and a couple of buttons undone. Small breasts and a very nice set of curves. She uses little make up, artfully applied, along with with unpainted nails cut short. The handshake is dry and firm.

She returns my examination with the same interest, and seems to approve what she sees. I'm wearing tan slacks, a dark blue polo shirt and black leather shoes. "Allie. Nice to meet you Lucas."

Penny comes with two wine glasses and serves us, and we sit down to chat. Sofia is nowhere to be seen. Penny explains. "I set Sofia in her room with some episodes of Dora the Explorer. She should be entertained for a while."

"She is beautiful, Callie. Congratulations."

"I hear you already made a friend. Good choice with the tiara."

"I have a fifteen year old sister. I know about little girls."

Callie laughs. "From what I've seen, you know about big girls too."

I exchange a quick glance with Allison, and I see her amusement deepens.

"You know it, Boss."

She giggles. "Oh, quit it with the "boss" thing, Lucas. By the way, amazing work with the crushed pelvis."

Before I could complain, Callie explains the condition of our patient, our plan and the five hour surgery we performed yesterday, with high praise for my small contributions. "It's your work Callie. You were amazing. I've never learned so much in such a short span of time."

Penny laughs. "The way she's been going on about you, and seeing now you two together, I confess Im jealous."

"It's only been a week, but it feels that we've been working together for ages. I never really had a mentor or a working partner, except for Derek Shepard for a while. And Lucas brings something to the table I had never seen. He really understands the physiology of motion."

"That's useful for treating high performance athletes. It's not about saving their lives. It's about keeping their edge."

Allie takes part on the conversation for the first time. "That's an unusually commercial concern for a physician."

"Well, it's life-and-death serious for a professional athlete."

"I didn't mean to put it down. Just that it is an unusual emphasis in patient care."

"That I completely agree with you."

There's a ping from the kitchen, and dinner is served. Salad, two different kinds of lasagna and strawberries with vanilla ice cream for dessert. Sofia joins us, and we stop talking about medicine.

"I know Callie grew up in Florida, and I grew up in North Carolina. Where did you two grow up?"

"I grew up in Pullman, Washington, right next to Montana."

"So, you're a Cougars fan?"

Penny answers with a soft voince. "I was a cheerleader for the Cougars."

Callie laughs. "You were? Do you have any pictures. I have to see this, girl."

Penny becomes bright red, and we all laugh. "What's a cheerlead, mommy?"

"They stand on the side of a game and try to encourage their team by singing and dancing."

"They also try to distract the opposing team by looking too cute." I add.

"Can I be a cheerlead?"

"Sure, sweety."

Penny asks Callie. "Was Arizona a cheerleader? She certainly looks the type."

"I have no idea, although I'd be surprised. She's always known she was into girls, and that doesn't fit with the cheerleading thing. You, on the other hand, don't fit the type at all."

"I was different before I realized I actually liked girls. I kept desperately trying one boy after another, trying to find one that would fit. That went with the cheerleading type just fine."

"What about you, Allie?"

"I grew up near Chicago. Total bookworm. I like watching basketball, though."

"I can't believe the boys would leave you alone, looking like you do."

"Well... High school kids pay attention to certain qualities," she looks at her own chest, "that were never very prominent."

"They look lovely, from where I'm sitting."

"From here too," adds Callie.

"Oh, they do look nice. And, at some point during junior year in college, boys begun to realize it too. From then on, I never really lacked attention."

After dessert, Callie goes tuck Sofia, and we stay, looking at the park and the city lights from their window.

"So, I presume Arizona is Robbins, in Sofia's name."

"That's right. Callie and Arizona were married when Callie had Sofia."

"Some kind of sperm donor deal?"

"No. It's complicated. Get Callie drunk and she will tell you. Arizona is a good parent, but a royal, cast iron bitch of a partner. Callie's heart is still recovering."

Allison turns to Penny. "You two look really good together."

"Thanks. We're very good to each other, I think. I need her exuberance, her joy, and she needs the steadiness I give her. We both miss Seattle, but I think we're much better off here." She looks at me. "Even better now, that she found someone she truly enjoys working with."

"Thanks."

Callie comes back, and Allie and I exchange a glance. "I think we'd better leave."

Allie puts a hand in my arm and asks me. "Would you walk me home? It's about ten blocks."

"It would be a pleasure."

Callie and Penny share a little smile.

"Thanks for dinner, guys. And just so you know, I'm more than happy to babysit Sofia if you need it, or you just want time for some some, what, Cannie? Pellie? Pallie?"

Callie and Penny look embarrassed and Allie giggles. Lovely sound, too. "Definitely Pellie."

"We'll probably take you up on that. Soon."

"All right, guys. Bye."

AN: After I wrote this chapter I realized an irony in this crossover. Hilarie Burton (Peyton) played the skanky doctor Lauren Boswell that broke up Callie and Arizona. I'm not going to twist things around to make Peyton a lesbian craniofacial surgeon in this fic, but... Also, I was planning to have a nice Lucas and Allie sex scene still in this chapter, but this is getting too long. Brucas fans, not to worry. Allie is Allison Cameron, and her heart still belongs to a jackass called Gregory House, who will make a little appearance later in the game.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

How much clothes do you need for a four night stay in New York? There's a meeting at Victoria's Secret on Monday, and for that I would have really liked to use my own stuff, but I've never designed business clothes. So, I'm going for a below-the-knee black Dolce pencil skirt, a bottle green embroidered silk top and black Manolos. What else? A flower print summer dress, one of mine, white wedges, some naughty girl underwear in case someone gets lucky, True religion jeans and shorts... Make up case. Damn. I end up with a fully packed large suitcase, still feeling I'm leaving behind something I might need. I'm still pondering the philosophy of packing when I hear a very familiar and wholly unwelcome voice.

"Brooke"

I don't bother turning around. "Julian. What do you want?"

"I just came to say hi."

"Hi. Bye."

"Don't be like that. I miss you Brooke."

I have history with the knucklehead. Beginning of senior year, I decided the old party girl routine was getting a bit frazzled. So, I thought, why not give romance a chance? Julian is charming, funny and good-looking, and he said he liked me. In fact, after a while, he said he loved me. He said all the right things, and I began to fall for him too. Then, a few months in, things changed. He got jealous, controlling and, when I pushed back, abusive. We fought, and we made up. Several times. The final drop came at a party, when we had a fight, and an hour later I found him half naked, making out with an ex-friend of mine. Truth is, by then, he'd become a disgusting habit. Afterwards, I went back to the occasional one-night-stand routine and felt much better since. "Move on, Julian. Find someone else to bother."

"I love you, Brooke. It was a drunken mistake, I'm sorry."

I decide to have a little fun. "Will you take this thing downstairs, please?"

Julian is a good looking guy, and he exercises some, but I swear I've got more upper body strength than he does. And that suitcase is at least seventy pounds. I walk past him and his look of dismay, heading downstairs. I serve two glasses of iced tea and sip mine, as I wait for him to shlep my suitcase down the stairs.

I hand him the iced tea. "Thank you. You're looking a little pale."

"You're evil."

"Well, you come here bugging me, I can at least get something useful in return."

"Where are you going?"

I laugh, probably a little forced. "You're joking, aren't you?"

Now, he finally loses it. He hates it when I don't answer his questions. He raises his voice. "You slut!"

I reply in a dry tone. "Sure. Not your slut, though."

He closes his fists, and presses his lips together, assuming a threatening pose. He's got six inches and forty pounds on me, but I was the captain of the cheerleading squad and he still is a movie nerd. If he wants to get physical, I bet on myself. I whisper. "Bring it on, bitch."

He deflates and turns around. He goes out the door nearly running, and taking the iced tea glass with him.

First class on a red eye flight is a snore concert. I can't stand the earplugs, so it's movies or tossing about, pretending to sleep. Rachel comes back, looking smug, and I whisper at her. "That was disgusting, slut."

She lies down, her face six inches from mine and smiles. "He's good looking."

"For a forty-year-old. I'm sure there's all kinds of sagging shit under that suit."

"I didn't check, but you're probably right. The equipment works ok, though. And he gave me a card."

"A card? No shit."

"Shit you not, whore. He's an attorney. And he wants to see me again."

"Right. Good luck with that."

"At least I got my mile high club card punched."

"Congrats."

"Have you ever?"

"Nah. You know my type. Fresh faced, cute looking surfers or drummers don't travel first class."

"You should branch out a bit. I'm sure New York will offer interesting new experiences. No surfers, though."

"We'll go out tomorrow night. See what the city has to offer."

We enter the elevator, and I focus my attention on her. The bright eyes and the subtle smile are still there, but I can feel she is tense, by the coiled way she holds herself. I give her a little space.

"Hey, Allie. No expectations, all right? Whatever you want, I'm game."

She doesn't say anything, but her smile broadens. She rubs her shoulder against my chest while stepping out of the elevator and grabs one of my hands, pulling me after her. She's got the springy walk of the habitual runner. We walk slowly, hand in hand, silently for about half a block.

"I know what I want. That's not the problem."

I think a bit before replying. "Whatever happens, it's no strings attached. I'm not looking for anything serious, and, if I understood the message, neither are you."

We walk another half a block and she stops at the corner, turning to me and standing in the balls of her feet, while keeping hold of my hand. "There's always strings." Her fingers from her free hand dance briefly in my face. "And you're so damn compelling."

"You afraid of getting too attached?"

"No." She looks a little vulnerable for a second. "Yes." I smile. She frowns and presses her lips into a thin line. "No."

"You're damn charming yourself. It feels like there is a world of fun behind those bright eyes of yours."

Something changes, a decision is reached. She relaxes, smiles and lets go of my hand. She takes half a step forward, throws her hands behind my neck and pulls me down for a kiss. I taste her for the first time, a hint of wine in her darting tongue, an expensive perfume over her own sweet woman smell and the feel of her tight little body against mine. I hold her up, one arm around her waist, another exploring her back. We deepen the kiss, exploring each others mouth and tongue. We separate. Was this kiss the beginning or the end? I look into her eyes, and I can see a hunger matching my own. A beginning then. Good.

She grabs my hand again and walks fast. Apparently, now, there's not a second to be lost. I don't mind. I'm in a hurry to be alone with her too. I know next to nothing about her, which makes this situation... unfamiliar. I've only been with five women. Peyton, high school sweetheart and bane of my existence, Lindsay, my first editor and still a dear friend, now married with a second child on the way. Three others, long, complex relationships with busy, competitive people during med school and residence. For me, sex has always been the end result of a slow courtship. I think Peyton finally killed the hopeful romantic in me, the guy that yearns for the heart of a beautiful woman, before I can really enjoy exploring her body.

We kiss again in the elevator, and as she fumbles for the keys to her apartment. We get in, still kissing, my hands on her buttocks, lifting her up as I push her against a wall, and her legs wrap around my waist. She puts her hands on my chest and gently pushes us apart, her eyes locked on mine. She turns on the light, and I can see the small apartment. We're standing in a room, living room with a two-seater floral-pattern couch, flat screen TV, coffee table, a bookcase with knicknacks and a few books, a six-seat dining table, and a small, efficient looking kitchen. An open door leads to a darkened bedroom bedroom. The place is very neat, and very feminine, like its owner. She removes her shoes, leaving them on a little shelf next to the door, and I do the same. She takes her phone out of her pocket, fiddles with it, and places it in some kind of speaker. She chooses some kind of new age cheesy crap. Shitty music, but I'm not about to complain. Anyways, I quickly forget the music, as she climbs on the coffee table and sways a bit, unbuttoning her jeans and shimmying out of them. She's got beautifully shaped runner legs, with small, well-arched feet. We unbutton our shirts together, and soon she is standing on the coffee table, legs planted slightly apart, wearing a beautiful matched pair of lacy gray underwear. She has a small tattoo of the yin-yang symbol right above her panties. She is tight, with a faint suggestion of muscles under the skin and a flat abdomen. She turns around, to show off her back dimples, prominent little ass and a well-marked waist. She has another tat, a two-inch caduceus right between her shoulder blades. She's not just being seductive. She is also showing off something that makes her proud. With good reason, too. There's a lot of exercising and self control on display. She is in her late thirties, with a body that would do a twenty year old proud.

I finish undressing and step up, unhooking her bra on the back. I pull it out, revealing her small breasts, with brown aureoles and hard buttonlike nipples. She pulls her shoulders back, lifting them up. Show off. I latch my mouth onto the left breast, circling the aureole with my tongue, and eliciting a soft moan in response. It's the first sound coming out of her mouth in quite a while. I pull her panties down and finger her wet folds, as I switch my attention to the other breast. She keeps moaning, as I switch breasts and enter her with two fingers, while caressing her nub with my thumb. I continue, until her legs threaten to sag.

I pick her up in a bridal carry, and she slowly opens her eyes, smiles, and kisses me, as I take her to the bed. I place her down gently and stand a bit, just enjoying the view. She scoots to the side of the bed and opens a bedside drawer. There's quite a few toys in that drawer, including a few rather bent ones. She pulls out a couple of condoms from a box in the back, a battery, and a small white vibrator. She closes the drawer, leaves the condoms on top of the stand and puts the battery in the vibrator, turning it on.

She gives me the vibrator, and I place it between her legs, rubbing it slowly against her, watching her eyes unfocus with pleasure. I lie beside her, and she takes me into her mouth, as I continue to play with the vibrator. She begins to squirm, getting ready, I stick two fingers insider her, and I press the vibrator against her. Her moaning becomes more urgent, and then muffled, as she takes me all in. She comes, and she would be screaming, if she didn't have my full length down her throat. As it happens, she thrashes about, and I warn her. "I'm coming too." And I start screaming her name. "Ally!, Ally! Ahh..." She pulls me out and pumps me with her hand, taking my load straight into her now giggling face.

She straddles me, going for a deep kiss, where I can taste myself and her. She seems gloriously happy. She gets up, picks up the vibrator and removes the battery. and grabs my hand, pulling me to her bathroom. She has a large glass shower stall. She leaves the vibrator on top of the sink. From a cabinet, she grabs an extra towel, which she hangs next to hers. She's still giggling as she turns to me and places both hands on my chest. "You made a nice mess. Now you wash me, big boy. Starting with the hair."

The water is stinging hot. I put a handful of lemony scented shampoo in my hand and spread it in her hair, massaging the scalp. Her hair is thick and feels unruly. I lather it thoroughly. She purrs with pleasure, pressing her back against me. I turn her around and I rinse her head, giving her soft kisses in her lips and throat. Next I pick up a bar of soap and wash her body, paying special attention to her face. I take my time with her breasts, her folds, buttocks and legs, her arms and hands, kneeling down to wash her feet. Then it's my turn. I keep kneeling, enjoying the view, as she shampoos and rinses my hair and stands me up, soaping and rinsing me with the same slow deliberation I offered her. By the time we're done drying up, we're both getting nicely worked up again.

We get back to the bed, and this time I go down on her, using my tongue and lips, blowing, nipping and caressing her When she feels herself getting closer she stops me, and gets me to lie face up on the bed, standing to attention like a flagpole. She opens a condom, sweetly kissing my tip, and rolling down the condom until it's securely in place. Then she straddles me, slowly impaling herself. She is tight, very tight. I watch her, as she closes her eyes, and starts humming to herself, as she moves up and down on me. She sways her hips back and forth, playing with her own nipples, and lost inside herself. Her mouth opens slightly and her humming turns to low moans. Her movements become more vigorous, and I begin to lose myself. I grab her hips and slow her down, deepening her motion. She begins to crash, opening her eyes and staring directly into mine. Her orgasm is long, peaking several times. As she finishes I let go, losing myself to pleasure and her eyes.

We're both spent. She snuggles up to me, and I wrap her in my arms, eyes closed, listening to her slow breathing. After a few minutes I feel myself beginning to fall asleep. "Ally."

"Lucas?"

"Do you want me to go?"

"No. Please stay."

"With pleasure."

"You can make me breakfast. And I want to try for an encore tomorrow morning."

I smile in the dark. "You're a greedy little minx."

"You have no idea, big boy. Yet."

"Welcome to the Marriot, how may I help you?"

"We have a reservation for tonight. The name is Davis. A double room."

"Yes, we have your reservation in our system. Four nights. You may check in after two." Damn. It's eight in the morning.

Rachel walks up to the counter and smiles at the concierge. She produces two folded twenties and asks sweetly. "Would it be possible to check in a little early? We took the red eye from LA, and we could use a shower and a little rest before going about town."

The twenties quickly disappear, and the concierge clears his throat. "Hum-hum. Let me check. Oh, yes. We happen to have a room you could check in right now. Here. Room 1122. Do you require two keys?"

I clearly have a lot to learn from Rachel. "Yes we do."

"The bellboy will take you to your room Miss Davis and ... Gattina. You have a nice day."

I wake up spooning with a naked Ally, feeling relaxed and rested. I check her alarm clock, and it's eight o'clock. Slowly I retrieve my arm and get up. Bright Eyes is a sound sleeper. I go into the bathroom, piss, take a quick shower and borrow her toothbrush to brush my teeth. After last night, I don't think she would mind. I go to the kitchen and get together the works for coffee, french toast and bacon. I'm about ready to call her when she comes out of the bedroom, wearing a large, ratty Aerosmith t-shirt. I set a place for her, with a mug of coffee, black, a glass of orange juice and a plate of french toast and bacon. "How do you like your coffee?"

"A bit of cream and two sugars."

I let her get through half her breakfast before I talk to her. "Good morning."

"Good morning. And thank you. This is nice."

By the time we finish our breakfast, she's got her tiny smile and the expectant gleam in her eyes back on. So I put the dishes in the sink, and when I turn back, she is standing on the balls of her feet, right next to me. We start kissing and she jumps me, arms around my neck, legs crossed around my waist. I drop my boxers and, after a little wiggling, I am right inside her again. I hold her buttocks and move her back-and-forth, while walking towards the bedroom. I place her in the bed and get out, continuing to work on her with my fingers. I reach for the condom on the nightstand and give it to her. She quickly opens it and places it on me. I climb on the bed and get back inside her, continuing to move while keeping eye contact. I'm getting there, but I can can see she is not close yet, so I think of knee replacement surgery and hospital lime jello and I look into her eyes and she is moaning loud now, abandoning herself. I let myself go, and we crash together.

"I'm sorry. I really wish I could stay and cuddle, but I have an appointment."

"Lucas."

"Ally?"

"Do you want to do it again?"

I look into her eyes. "No strings? Just for fun?"

Her little self contained smile opens into a full happy one, which I'm seeing for the first time. I hope I'll see it again, sometime. "Just a few strings. We'll talk."

"All right."

"I'm going for a twenty-four hour shift, beginning in a couple of hours. Come back Sunday night at ten. Bring a change of clothes."

"Am I allowed to visit you at the ER?"

"Sure, but I might put you to work, if you do."

"I'll come by, then." I'm curious to see Dr. Allison Cameron in her working hat. I suspect the curiosity is mutual.

I take a cab back to my hotel, and a pair of stunning teens, a brunette and a redhead grab the cab as I leave. Even as thoroughly and well-fucked as I am this morning, I can't help it but ogle those two a bit.

"Did you see guy that climbed out of this cab?"

"You mean a tall, blonde, well built, blue-eyed, old guy?"

"Not that old. Early thirties, I guess. And he was checking us out."

"What's with you and old guys?"

"Did you ever do it with an older guy?"

"No! Anytime I have someone older than, say, twenty one or so, ogling me, the first thing that comes to mind is "yuck, perv"."

"That used to be right. But you're eighteen now. You're legal and guys are sort of entitled to ogle you. The thing with older guys is that some of them really know what they are doing."

"How can you tell?"

"Gossip. And you might want to pay attention to the woman next to the guy. If she seems well fucked, she probably was."

"Rachel Gattina, life coach. Living and learning"

It's the eighth apartment they have seen. Third floor walk-up, east eighty-six, four-and-a-half blocks from the park. A large one-bedroom facing an alley, tall ceilings, antique wooden floor, both kitchen and the bathroom recently renovated. The location is fine, far from Parsons, but near the Victoria's Secret atelier and a great neighborhood. Two big pluses are the big bathtub and two walk-in closets. Price is fine, within their range, and the realtor is saying that the owner is planning on putting an elevator. It's the best of the lot, so far.

As they are walking down the stairs, two people are walking up, a sharply dressed platinum blonde in her fifties and the hottie from the cab earlier today. Rachel wastes no time. Their realtor and the platinum blonde know each other, and start a fast conversation in low tone. Rachel, being Rachel, get right down to business.

"Hi, handsome. We meet again."

"Hello. I'm Lucas."

"I'm Rachel, and the tongue-tied one is Brooke. You staying at the Marriot?"

"Sure."

"So are we. We are going clubbing tonight. Care to join?"

"Well..."

"C'mon, blondie. It will be fun. We promise to bring you back to the hotel with your virtue intact."

I can't help but giggle at Rachel's chutzpah. He looks at me, and his icy blue eyes seem to see straight through me. "Do you also want an old guy's company?"

I recall the earlier conversation with Rachel. Also, as far as old guys go, this one looks kinda interesting. Finally I shrug. "Sure. Why not?"

"All right. What time?"

"Eleven-thirty at the hotel bar."

"I'll see you there."

"Bye, handsome."

I give him a cautious smile. "Bye."

I ask the realtor. "Are we competing with that guy for the apartment?"

"No. He is looking at the fourth floor apartment. It's the whole fourth floor, three thousand five hundred square feet. It's not for rent, it's for sale."

"What's the asking price?"

"One million eight. You can probably buy it for one five or six. The blonde, his realtor. That woman only gets out of her air conditioned office for serious wealth. Not to say climbing four flights of stairs in those Jimmy Choos."

"So, what's left?"

"I've four other places to show you."

"They any good?"

"I think 3B is the cream of the crop. If you can afford it."

"What do you think, slut?"

"It's fine by me, whore."

"Let's go back to your office and sign a lease. We gotta go shopping."

"Why did you invite him, slut?"

"Well... several reasons. First, he looks fine. Second, it's a little safer with him, he will shoo away undesirables. Third, I don't think he'll get in the way. Fourth, one of us might get lucky, and , as I said, he looks fine. Why, do you mind?"

I think about it. I get it about it being a little safer, and the real possibility of walking back alone to the hotel. "No. I don't mind at all."

"Do you know what those girls were looking at, Ms. Marshall?"

"One of the rental units. That realtor doesn't handle sales. All right, here it is. Why don't you take a look? I'll just catch my breath a little."

The place is pretty nice. High ceilings, with modern light fixtures, windows on two sides. The entrance hallway opens into a large rectangular room, like thirty feet by fifteen, with the kitchen to one side and a side room for a formal dining room with a half bathroom. Then there is a corridor with a single room to one side, with a spiral staircase leading to the roof, two bedrooms sharing one bath, and two rooms with bath ensuite. The master bedroom is double-sized, with a huge bathroom and a walk-in closet. The roof is part of the apartment. The only access is through the spiral staircase. There's a small garage in the basement, with space for three cars. One of the spaces belongs to 4A, one is empty and one is currently being rented by one of the tenants.

"You're saying the owners will put an elevator."

"Yes. You might have to sacrifice a corner of you dining room. It would be spelled out in the contract."

"All right. What else do you have to show me?"

"There's a couple of penthouses near the park, and a nice three thousand square feet duplex at those towers over there."

I see the other places. The truth is that a ostensibly wealthy address at the park, or in some of the other places I was shown doesn't really appeal. I decide try an offer for the

fourth floor walk-up on eighty-sixth, after an inspector clears the property of hidden problems.

I get to the ER bringing a couple of iced caramel lattes and a bag of scones. I get to the nurse in charge, a portly black woman with a competent look. "Dr. Cameron?"

"Try the attending lounge Dr..."

"Scott. Lucas Scott. Ortho fellow."

"Nice to meet ya. I'm Edna Calloway, chief shift nurse. Careful with that Cameron gal, Dr. Scott. She's a cold fish."

"Thanks for the warning, Edna. I'll keep it in mind." Cold fish. I have to struggle to keep a straight face.

She is alone at the attending lounge, sitting in a sofa, with her feet up on a coffee table, napping. I get near her, squat and touch her face lightly. She doesn't start. She opens her eyes slowly, and, for the second time, I get to see her unguarded smile.

"Hey. Iced caramel latte."

"Thanks. I was hoping you would show up. Come with me."

She grabs a folder from the nurse's station and leads me to an image viewing room. She puts up three torax shots of a young boy. "Ten-year-old, presents with respiratory distress. Chest X-ray and auscultation indicate bronchitis, and the pending bloodwork should indicate the origin of the infection. But..."

I see what the problem is. "There's at least ten fractures, over a large period of time. Some of them show sign of treatment, and some are poorly aligned, suggesting no treatment at all."

"Pattern of abuse?"

"Could be, but I don't think so. These fractures are too random, and they all seem consistent with different kinds of common accidents. I think this boy's bones are more friable than they should be, probably due to poor calcium metabolization or fixation. There must be twenty possible causes, the most likely being improper nutrition. I would admit, order a full body X-ray and a very complete blood panel. That way we might narrow those twenty to something a little more manageable."

"I'll admit him with you as primary. Is that Ok?"

"This is not surgical, and I'm not a pediatrician. I don't mind, but you should clear it with Callie. I like a puzzle just like anyone else. Just let me know."

"Let me take you to meet the patient."

She introduces me to a small, scared looking blonde boy with huge brown eyes and the mother, a

tired redhead in her early thirties. We talk, and I ask about his history of bone fractures and his eating habits. She realizes he tends to have fractures a bit too often, but never caught on that as a symptom. I examine the boy, palpating his long bones and joints, examining his spine and his teeth. I show Ally that his teeth have had cavity repairs, he has mild scoliosis and the white in his eyes have a slight blue tint to them.

Back at the attending lounge, we talk again. "I'm strongly inclined to a diagnosis of Ostheogenesis Imperfecta, type one. The whole body X-ray and a skin punch biopsy should firm up the diagnosis."

"I don't know much about OI. Can you treat it?"

"Oh, yes. There are a number of protocols for it, including special physical therapy and exercise, drugs and even surgery. Actually, you can definitely admit him as my patient on one of the pediatric beds."

"You said it's not surgical."

"I'm doubly certified as a surgeon and as a sports medicine clinician. We can send him to a specialist later, but the initial treatment definitely falls within the scope of my clinical specialty."

I look into her eyes, and take her hands. "Ally, it was a great evening. And I'm looking forward to tomorrow night."

"I agree."

"I don't know where we're taking this, but I'm telling you. Right now, you're my girl. I'm not going to be with anyone else, before ending things with you. Is that ok?"

She smiles. "That's fine, big boy. Same here. Exclusive works for me too."

"Having said that, I need a little help."

"What?"

"I have a date tonight."

"Really?"

"I'm going clubbing with a pair of teenage girls. Very good looking ones."

She giggles. "How did that happen?"

I tell her the story, and describe Rachel and Brooke. "So, given the circumstances, how does one dress for the occasion?"

She looks at me with her small smile and a totally impenetrable stare. "I assume money is not an issue."

It isn't, but I wonder why she would assume that. "That's right."

"Then go to the men's section at Neiman-Marcus, tell the salesperson that you're going clubbing with a young date and ask for help. They will fix you up just fine." She slides a finger down my chest. "And I mean, really, really fine."

"Thanks."

"Two things. First, I want a picture."

"All right."

"Second, you use the same outfit when you come tomorrow. Rachel and Brooke may take you out for a spin. But I get to unwrap the package. Deal?"

I give her a quick kiss. "Deal."


	4. Chapter 4

AN: As per request, I'm marking the switching POVs. I was also asked when I'm updating "Into the Sunset". My other ongoing story "What she needs" is coming to an end, maybe five more chapters or so. I'll get back to "Sunset" after "Needs" is done. Hope you enjoy the update, and thanks for the reviews. As usual, I own nothing related to OTH.

Chapter 4

 **Lucas**

I try for a Brooklyn accent. "Good afternoon. I would like to speak to Haley James Scott, please."

"This is her."

"Good afternoon madam. I'm calling on behalf of a Mr. Lucas Scott, who was found earlier this afternoon unconscious in a crack house in the Bronx. Our records indicate you are his next of kin, to be contacted in case of medical emer..."

She starts screaming. "Nathan!, Nathan! It's Luke. Wait... what do you mean a crack house?" A pause. "Lucas?"

I crack out. "You unspeakable jackass. You're trying to kill me?"

I hear Nathan in the background. "What about Lucas, sweetheart?"

"It's nothing. The fool was pulling my leg." She puts the phone on speaker.

"Hey, little brother."

"Hey."

"So, big brother, how was the first week of the new job?"

"Intense. The cool thing is that I'm in love with my new boss, Callie."

Haley responds in a serious tone "Hey, that's not good."

"Don't worry. She's a married lesbian, with a kid Anna's age. She's also the best surgeon I've ever seen, and we make a really great team. I'm really going to enjoy the new job."

"That sounds great, bil. How are you really doing?" Haley thinks I'm having a hard time getting over Peyton. She worries. I think of Allie for a second.

"Getting better, sis. I've found some... distractions."

"You dog." Nathan interjects. "What about them Knicks?"

"That's the down side. The players and coaching staff are great. I just don't like the business side of the game."

"Nobody does, big brother. Just take care of the players, and ignore the money men. That's what you are there for, anyways, right?"

"That's right. Thanks bro."

"No problem. I've a client, a twenty year old pitcher with a shoulder injury. Second stringer for the Padres. The team doctors say he's not playing anymore, ever. Can I send him to you for a second opinion?"

"Of course. Did they let him go?"

"Yes they did."

"Get him on a plane to New York. I'll see him next week."

"What about payment for services?"

"Have your financial people call the hospital. They own me now. You might want to write a little service contract with us. Callie and I will be the hottest sports surgeon team in the country, in a few years."

"You got it. I'll talk to Clay. What about those distractions?"

"Well, it's been pretty intense in that aspect too. I met someone."

Now Haley gets back in the story. "Wait, who? How?"

"Well, my boss introduced us. She's an ER doctor, a little older than us. Real pretty, quiet, and I think we get along really well. It's nothing serious. Her name is Allison, Allie."

"You're meeting her tonight?"

"No. I met her for the first time yesterday at Callie's home. We got along rather well." Interesting way of putting it. "She's doing a twenty-four hour shift right now. I'm meeting her again tomorrow night. Tonight I'm going clubbing with an unbelievably hot pair of teenagers from California. I met them at the hotel."

"Clubbing? Teenagers? I'm beginning to believe the crack den story again. What's going on, Luke?"

"Bored and lonely, Hales. One of them asked, and I said yes."

"Does Allie know about this, Big Brother?"

"I told her. She wasn't thrilled, but it's not a big deal either. There's a chance that the two teens may be my future neighbors, I guess."

"You found a place?"

"It's not certain yet, but I'd say probably yes. It's a big place, thirty five hundred square feet. Plenty of space for you guys to stay when you visit."

"Well, get installed and we will come. We love New York."

"How are the kids?"

"Nothing new. Jamie is really nervous about starting for the Ravens this year. The Scott name is a tough legacy to follow. Lydia is missing school, mini Haley that she is, and Anna is worrying about starting kindergarten."

"God, I miss you guys."

"They all miss their godfather too. Come down to spend a weekend sometime. Bring the new girl."

"Thanksgiving for sure. I'll try to arrange something before that."

"Bye, Luke."

"Bye guys."

 **Brooke**

I have no idea why. Maybe it's the huge dirty city, the oppressive humidity or the aura of impatience that hangs over everything. I can feel the energy, but it's a dark energy, and I already see myself missing sunny California. So, maybe I know why. Tonight I'm going for a look I've never used. Black miniboots, with four inch heels. Fishnets and a black mid thigh miniskirt. A ruffled white tank top, fitted below the breasts, a little cleavage and a lot of skin between the top and the skirt. Black leather gloves, with cutout fingers. Black nails. Black silk bolero, with red embroidering. Heavy dark make-up, with purple eyeshadow and lipstick. Hoop earrings, and my hair done in half a dozen chaotic looking little pigtails. Very sexy, in your face, and almost gothic. It fits my mood and the city.

Rachel is looking much more like herself. A jade green spaghetti strap Valentino, beautifully draped in her fashion model frame, long shapely legs in view, highlighted with five inch golden Manolos. A long gold chain wrapped twice around her neck, delicate make-up with green undertones, bright red lipstick and her red hair loose in waves. "Very nice, slut. You clean up well."

She looks at me and does a double take. "What happened to you?"

"It just fits my mood." I twirl around. "Whaddya think?"

"It's sexy as fuck, whore. But it ain't you."

"You're the one that keeps saying I need to branch out. So there. Branching out."

"That's not what I had in mind, but... go with the flow, right?"

I smile. "That's right, bitch. Go with the flow."

"Shall we go? Blondie must be growing roots by now."

"We're worth waiting for."

It's a bit past midnight when we get down to the lobby. He is sitting in a chair, looking like he is somewhere else. I wonder for a second if he is stoned, but as soon as he sees us, he seems to get back to himself. There is a coiled intensity to him that attracts my eyes and scares me a bit, like a hidden danger. He is dressed fancy, in a preppy sort of way. Tight dark jeans, designer sneakers and a white long sleeve cotton shirt, no collar and a small chest opening. A five o'clock shadow and the rugged look of a GQ model. We're all dressed to the nines, but completely mismatched. He gets up and checks us up slowly with those icy blue eyes, smiling as he takes us in. "You're both breathtaking, girls." As before, I let Rachel take the lead.

"You're looking very nice yourself, stud." She approaches him and pulls his sleeves up to his elbows. "Sorry we're late."

"You girls are worth the wait."

I can't avoid smiling at that. "Someone raised you right, handsome."

He exaggerates his slight southern accent when replying. "Mah mother thanks ya, Brooke."

I giggle a bit, even if that doesn't fit the dark outfit. I guess my mood is improving. "Shall we go?"

"Can I get a picture first? I want to show off the company I'm keeping to my boys at home."

"Of course."

He hands his phone to a bellboy, and we take two pictures. In one he is in the middle, arms around our waists. He gives a smug smile and we look sultry. The other picture has him leaning forward a bit, hands still in our waists, as we both give him a pretend peck in the cheek. He is tall, maybe six feet and a bit, broad shouldered and he feels hard under the shirt. Maybe he's some kind of professional athlete? Also, his large hand on my bare waist does things to me that I'd rather not think about.

The club is some five blocks from the hotel, and there is a line turning around the corner. We walk right up to the door, and with a hard look at the three of us, they let us in. That results in some catcalls from the people in line.

Club is packed, high end youngish crowd, more sober and stylish than a similar place in LA. Three-level place, with a large dance floor in the bottom, with the DJ behind a glass partition at the far end, midlevel split into two, with long oval bars in each side, half a dozen people pouring drinks in each bar, and a few waitresses in skimpy black dresses and trays with drinks floating about. Top level is a U-shaped VIP section with its own bar, accessible by stairs at the front of the middle level, with security at the bottom. The decor is industrial modern, concrete, rebar and fake-rusty steel, with mirrors behind the bars and glass accents. Music is fast, with the bass line heard and felt through our feet. Our trio makes an impression, turning eyes of both boys and girls around us. Rachel and I are in our element, but our escort seems to feel a bit out of place. I exchange a glance with Rachel, nodding to the bar. We make our way to the bar. Rachel asks him. "What's you poison, stud?"

"Just a brew is fine for me."

We both smile, and I grab his arm. "I don't think so, handsome. You need to relax a bit." Rachel gets the attention of one of the bar creatures, a pink-haired, heavily pierced androgynous looking person. "What?"

"Six shots of Patron, two cranberry vodkas, Grey Goose, and a Sam Adams."

"Coming right up."

"I'm not much of a drinker..."

"You just need to relax a bit, handsome. This should do the trick."

The pink-haired person lines up the six shot glasses on the counter and pours the Patron in one swift motion. "Here you go, Lucas. Down the hatch." We pick up the first shot glass and down it in one gulp, both of us keeping an eye on our boy. He downs it too, but has a coughing attack afterwards. He really is not much of a drinker. We pat his back and make cooing noises, until he is composed again. In a few seconds we do it again. This time, things go smoothly. Pink hair comes back with the rest of our drinks, we pay and move to the railing overlooking the dance floor, sipping our drinks. Several guys and a couple of girls try to pry one of us loose, but we wait, letting the alcohol climb into our brains a bit.

We make a sexy little boy sandwich, Rachel and I rubbing ourselves against Lucas. Of course, we know what we are doing, but our boy is a sad state of affairs. He is game, and he can keep the tempo, but the poor guy is as stiff as a board. Well... Rachel and I did spend three years teaching people how to move with the music. "Lucas, pay attention. Keep your eyes on Rachel, and try to follow what she is doing."

"All right."

He is game. I place my hands on his shoulders. "Relax your shoulders. More." I slide my hands down his arms. "Now your upper arms. Follow Rachel." I let him do it for a bit. "Better." Now I hold his waist. "Now comes the critical part. Relax your abdomen. Move your hips. Yes, move them. Keep following Rachel. Better. Can you do the circular motion?" I push him in a circular pattern in time with the song. I grab his ass. "Your glutes now, handsome. Unclench. Work with it." I love the feel of his ass in my hands. There's one hell of a tight bod under those clothes. "Now your thighs. Bend your knees a bit. A bit more. All right. Keep it up and follow Rachel a bit more."

He turns around, and I can see the bulge in his pants.

"Can I follow you a bit now?"

"Sure." I go through a simple series of motions and he follows. I wouldn't call it good, but it's a big step in the right direction. "You're a good student, Lucas."

"You're a damn good teacher, girl."

"All right, stop following and just do your thing. Let's enjoy ourselves."

Half an hour later we get up to the bar level, sweaty and breathing hard. Rachel stands on tiptoes and gives him a kiss in the cheek. "That was fun, stud."

"Yes it was. Thank you for the lesson, girls." He is more relaxed, glowing a bit, but he is still somewhat apart. Observing, instead of living.

I offer. "How about another drink?" We are approaching the bar when someone yells in our direction. "Hey, Doc!" It's a hugely tall black man, bald and with a big smile. He's coming up from the dance floor with a skinny blonde under his arm.

"Leroy? Hey!" They approach and greet each other with one of these combinations of handshake and mutual slapping. "Hi, Doc. This is Simone."

"Nice to meet ya, Simone. These are Brooke and Rachel."

Leroy gives a huge laugh. "All right Doc. It's always the quiet ones. Just in town, and out with the hottest pair of babes... Nice to meet ya, Brooke and Rachel. Come on up. There's a couple more guys from the team up there."

Leroy... Guys from the team... I look at him again. Of course. "Leroy Markham. All State Wash. U. four years ago. First round draft pick to the Knicks." I frown at him, and he smiles back at me, while Lucas, Rachel and Simone stare like I just dropped from Mars. "You should be starting. What happened?"

He lifts his south paw. "Bum left hand. Doc here says he can fix it."

I turn my eyes at Lucas, who has a totally foolish grin in his face. "You work for the Knicks? And you fix hands?"

"Yup. You a basketball fan?"

"I love basketball."

Leroy laughs again. I can get used to this sound. He wraps his arm around my shoulders and walks up the stairs with me. "Where did you find this treasure, Doc? Can I take her for a spin?"

"She's not mine, man. Just a friend. You're gonna have to clear it with her. And your date, I think."

Lucas goes up the stairs with his arm around Rachel, and poor Simone follows, looking like she swallowed a fly. My head is swirling. A doctor? A fucking hand surgeon? Works for the Knicks? The guy is so out of my league it's not even funny. Well... the night is not a total loss. At least I get to meet some basketball players.

 **Lucas**

I'm not sure what I was expecting when I went clubbing with them. I mean, I'm a heterosexual male, and showing off around town with those two does massage the ego a bit. A lot of it was just feeling protective, and hoping for some new acquaintances in a city I don't know anyone. I certainly didn't expect to enjoy their company, and dancing with them, quite as much as I did. And those little hands on my ass... Hm. Better not go there. I like Rachel, sassy and unconventional as she is, but I'm really impressed by Brooke. That girl has such a presence. She lights up a room. I've read that some of the great movie divas, like Bacall, Taylor, Hepburn and Deneuve were like that. Of course, life has a way of killing such... presences. I stop to imagine what a force of nature a fully mature, thirty or forty year old Brooke would be like.

"Hey, stud. Penny for them?"

"Oh. Hi, Red." I pause to collect myself. "I was thinking about you two. How much I've enjoyed tonight."

She presses herself against my arm. "The night is still young, baby. There's still a lot of fun to be had."

I look into her eyes and I see a bit of desperation behind her aggressive flirting. I take a bit of hair away from her eyes, and she pounces, aiming for a kiss. I put a finger on her lips and gently push her away. "I'm spoken for, Red. Just friends for now, if that's ok."

"All right, stud. But I reserve the right to try again later."

"You flatter me. A drink?"

"Sure."

After the drinks arrive, another cranberry vodka for her and another brew for me, we continue talking. "So, where is this girl of yours?"

"Working. She is an ER doctor."

She gives me a sardonic smile. "Does she know where you are and what you're doing tonight?"

"Yes. I sent her one of the pictures we took at the hotel. I told her about you two, and she was curious."

"And won't she be jealous?"

"Of course she will. She is a smart, beautiful and accomplished woman. But, can you imagine what such a woman, near forty, feels like looking at you and Brooke?"

She looks at me and shudders. She is quite afraid of growing old. "You're a dangerous man, Lucas."

And sharp as hell.

I shake my head. "Most of the time, it seems that I'm more of a danger to myself than to others."

"You mean there isn't a string of broken hearts in your wake?"

I smile and get up. "Maybe one or two. Do you want to dance some more?" I offer her a hand.

As we walk down I notice Brooke, surrounded by basketball players, following us with her eyes.

We dance. For the first time in my life, I find myself enjoying it. Rachel is an amazing dancer, in an over the top, brassy way that I begin to see as a true expression of her nature. As she rubs her shapely ass against me, undulating enticingly, I note that the spectacle is mostly for her own enjoyment. She doesn't care about my reaction, or the reaction of the other men near us. A few minutes later Brooke comes down, with one of the younger players in tow. I can't avoid keeping what I think is a discreet eye in her direction. Her dancing is sensual, less overt than Rachel's and, I suspect, much more aware of the attention of others. Including mine, as it happens. I try to let go of all my compulsive observing and let myself just dance, and enjoy my partner. I think I manage to let go for a few minutes.

Suddenly, I find myself partnered with Brooke. For some reason, she draws a sharper physical reaction from me than her friend did. She looks into my eyes. "You were staring."

"I guess I was."

"You like what you see?"

I smile at her. "Yes."

Suddenly a slow song starts, and most people leave the dance floor. Brooke gives me a questioning look, as I place my hands on her naked waist, pulling her towards me. She crosses her arms around my neck, and we sway to the music. I'm keenly aware of her lithe body in my hands and her breasts pushing against my chest. I feel the tension between us growing. I stop dancing and step back from her. She looks at me, tilts her head sideways a bit and gives me a thin smile. "What is it, Broody?"

"Broody?"

"It suits you. Answer me."

She is eighteen. A kid. I'm reminded of the effect Peyton had on me a long time ago. "I'm spoken for, Brooke."

She giggles. "We promised, didn't we? Intact virtue? Just dance with me, Broody."

We go back slow dancing. The tension is still there, but it's just part of the background now.

We go back up. Brooke receives a text. "Rachel went home with Tyson." Tyson is Tyson Waits, forward-center. Unattached and very handsome.

"That's ok. She's safe with him."

"Good. Do you want to go back to the hotel?"

"I'd dance with you a little more. Just a couple of songs."

She gives me a sideways glance and a smile. "Hooked."

"I guess."

"Let's go, Broody. A couple of songs."

When we get back to the hotel, she is walking with difficulty, wincing at every step. "Brooke, will you come up to my room?"

She frowns "I don't think so, Broody. You're spoken for."

"Nothing will happen that my girl would disapprove."

She smiles. "Now you got me curious. Let's go."

"Can I carry you?"

"Oh, yes, please."

I carry her into the elevator, down the corridor and to my door. I set her back on her feet and open the door, carrying her to the bed. "Just sit there a second."

From my backpack, I pick up a jar of liniment and a tube of a medicated warming paste, prepared to my specifications by an apothecary back in LA.

I sit on the floor in front of her. "This is payment for the dancing lesson."

"What?"

"The best foot massage you will ever have."

I unzip and remove her boots, and she takes off her stockings. I dilute a bit of the paste with the liniment, and start working on her right foot. Starting with her toes, focusing on the muscles and tendons at the front of the foot, which is what suffers most with high heels. She begins moaning softly, and doesn't stop. I work on the arch, back to the front, and then to the back of the foot and the Achilles heel. The top of the foot, the ankle joint, finishing with a long, deep massage of the calf. Repeat with the other foot. It's a half hour job, beginning to end.

"All right, we're done."

"Ah. That was better than sex, Broody."

I smile. "You need to find better lovers."

That gets me a full belly laugh. "That was a hyperbole. But you're probably right, anyways. Recommend anyone?"

"I'm sure New York is full of handsome young man who know their way around."

"Not around a girl's feet, apparently. How did you get this good?"

"I've been a masseur for a few years now. It's part of my job. I've developed some new techniques, and I know more about muscles, tendons and bone than any masseur ever did."

"What do I need to do to get a full body massage? Teach you cheerleading? Do your laundry for a month?"

"Occasional massages are free, for my friends."

"And how do I become one of those?"

I shrug "As far as I'm concerned, you already are."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

 **Lucas**

I wake up with insistent knocking at the door. I open a crack to see what's up, and Brooke just barges in with a cup of coffee in her hand. She begins talking fast.

"Hey, _friend_ , good morning. Do you know what time is it? It's past ten. Rachel just got in and she is passed out in our room. And you know what? I'm bored and I don't know anyone in this stupid town, so we're going out..."

She finally stops for a second and looks at me, standing in front on her in my boxers, one eye open and one closed. "Wow, Broody. So, that's what you've been hiding under the clothes. Nice six-pack. I like the pecs too."

"Brooke?"

"I know, I know. Old people take a little longer to wake up." She hands me the coffee. "I don't know how you like it, so I did it black, three sugars."

I sip the coffee, grimace at the cloying sweetness, and look at her. Hair in a loose ponytail, yellow sundress to midthigh and white ballet shoes. She looks even better than last night. I smile at her. "Gimme five minutes." She tosses herself on the bed.

"Five minutes. Move it. I don't like waiting."

I take a fast shower, brush my teeth and put on camo shorts, an old Bobcats jersey and canvas sneakers. Honestly, I feel like a kid on Christmas morning. "All ready princess. Where are we going?"

"I have no idea." She grabs my hand and pulls me along. Apparently I don't move fast enough to satisfy her. "I just wanna get out of here.".

As we are crossing the lobby I suggest. "Head uptown."

"What does this mean?"

"We can just take Seventh and head left. It's the direction of Central Park, some ten blocks north."

"And what is uptown?"

"I don't know you enough to guess what you like, but the best stuff, the Museum of Modern Art, the Metropolitan, the Museum of Natural History, The Frick Collection, The Central Park Zoo, they are all in that direction."

"What about the designer stores? "

"I guess that would be Fifth avenue. Turn right on Forty Sixth, walk a couple of blocks then turn left."

We walk up fifth, past the Rockefeller Center, and there's a whole bunch of designer stores. She loves it, Louboutin, Vuitton, Kors, Valentino... I never had much interest in fashion, but her enthusiasm is contagious. I find myself enjoying her keen eye for detail, and her contempt for commonplace. We window shop, but when we get to the Valentino store, we actually go in. "Just look at that dress, Broody." It's a jade green number, silk, sleeveless, with macrame detail on the top, a marked waist and lightly plied to the knee.

"It looks nice, Pretty Girl. Wanna try it on?"

"Yes, yes!" I confess I'm curious to see her in that dress.

The store, of course is very posh, with high ceilings, indirect lighting and all indications of luxury retail. Brooke and I are certainly not dressed to impress. A very haughty blonde,steps forward, quickly dismissing me, and turning her attention to Brooke. She looks like she's about to dismiss her too, but then she frowns. "Where did you buy that dress?"

Brooke twirls around and gives a full dimpled smile. "It's an original B. Davis exclusive design."

"B. Davis?"

"A hot, up-and-coming designer from LA."

I whisper in her ear. "Very hot." That earns me a slap in the shoulder.

"Shush!"

In the meantime, Miss Frosty settles down to dealing with us. "It's nice."

"It is, isn't it? Well, I'd like to try that green sleeveless from the window. Size two."

She raises her nose to the air and pontificates. "The price tag on that dress is thirty eight hundred dollars. On sale."

I frown at her. "Do you have a size two?"

She turns around and walks away. "I'll be right back."

I whisper in Brooke's ear. "B. Davis?"

"That's right, Broody. It's my own design. You like it?"

"I don't know if I mentioned it before, but it looks very nice on you."

"Thank you. You had not mentioned it." She presses a finger against my chest. "I take a lot of trouble with my appearance, Broody. And I do expect boys to appreciate it, you hear? Even if they are just _friends_."

"Sorry, Miss Davis. I did think you looked very nice, but, in my defense, you caught me sleeping..."

She gives me a radiant smile. "You're forgiven. Just this time."

I look again at the dress. "So, your design. I'm impressed."

She speaks in a dry, proud tone, suddenly sounding older. "My designs got me a full ride scholarship to Parson's and an internship at Victoria's Secret. I'm good, Broody. I don't know just how good yet."

She manages to surprise me over and over again. "You'll do fine."

The saleswoman comes back with an elegant brunette in her fifties, sporting a nicely polished professional smile. She addresses herself to me. "Good morning, I'm Marsha Truitt, manager of this store."

"I'm Lucas Scott, beach bum and gigolo, and this is my sugar momma Brooke Davis. "

Brooke giggles, which I guess was my intention, and Ms. Truitt looks shocked. Brooke gives a predatory smile. "I'd like to try the green Valentino. Any problem?"

"No problem, follow me."

The stuck up blonde turns to me in a flirty tone. "Can I offer you anything, Lucas? Coffee, water,..."

"No thank you."

About five minutes later Brooke comes back, wearing the green dress. It's classy, sexy in an understated way, hugging every luscious curve on her body. "It's stunning, Brooke."

She smiles at the compliment and looks at the manager. I'm taking it. Would you have it delivered to the Marriot Grand Marquis, room 1241? Miss Brooke Davis." She opens her purse and gives her a black Amex. She disappears for a bit, and comes back with her yellow dress. "Moving along, boy toy?"

"With pleasure, princess."

She changes like a chameleon. Before the Valentino store, she was a breathless little girl, full of energy. Now, after buying that dress, she acts older, more contained.

"You like shopping, Broody?"

"Yes and no. I like shopping with you."

"Why?"

"A beautiful looking girl, trying on different dresses? What's not to like?"

"Boys in general find it boring."

"I'm not a boy."

She slides a nail gently down my arm. "No, I guess you're not."

We stop in front of Tiffany's, a couple of blocks further north. We stare at the window display for a bit, and I decide to do something stupid. I drag Brooke in, and make a discreet request from one of the salespeople. She comes back with a black box.

"Brooke, close your eyes."

"What are you doing, Broody?"

"Humor me, Pretty Girl. Close your eyes."

"All right."

It's a long silver chain, with a round cabochon aquamarine, framed in silver. The pendant nestles between breasts when hanging from her neck. I place her in front of a mirror.

"Open your eyes"

She squeals, as she fingers the pendant. "Oh my god, Broody. It's beautiful. It's the color of your eyes. Thank you, thank you." She gives me a kiss in the cheek. "Thank you."

"I'm glad you liked it."

After that, we head to the Zoo, wandering around the enclosures. After a while, we sit down in front of the monkey habitat. Brooke keeps playing with the pendant and smiling. She begins talking, without looking at me.

"I'm so fucking nervous, Lucas. I was the bitch queen of high school, the most popular girl, the one everybody looked up to. I never really thought what was going to happen after high school."

"Parsons and Victoria's Secret. It sounds like you're going to do just fine."

"I'm just a little slutty cheerleader with fashion sense. Broody. I'm afraid New York is going to swallow me whole, and I'll never be seen again."

I put my arm around her shoulders and she leans against me. "I've known you for less than a day, but I've already seen you're so much more than that, Pretty Girl. You're a designer, good enough to impress the admissions board of the best fashion school in the country, the people at Victoria's Secret and the snooty sales clerk of a Valentino store. You're also, full of energy, incredibly smart and beautiful. You're going to make quite an impression, Brooke Davis. You're going to turn this town upside down."

I can feel her relaxing a bit in my arm. "Thank you." She looks into my eyes, with a pleading look. "I think I'm going to need you to repeat this little speech to me a few times, Lucas Scott. Please stick around."

"I'm not going anywhere. But, make no mistake, I need you too. I'm going to miss you something fierce when you go back to LA."

She gives me a tight hug. "I sure hope you do. We're gonna do some damage when I come back, you hear me?"

I smile, thinking what kind of damage she has in mind. "I'll be looking forward to it."

 **Brooke**

It's the biggest carousel I've ever seen. I sit on a horse, legs up in the air, screaming, and I can imagine I'm six years old again. The time when I actually had parents. I laugh, and Lucas laughs with me, without knowing why. I have no idea what is it about him... I need to get in his pants, to have those strong, capable hands do all kinds of naughty things to me. And the way he looks at me... Damn. Get a grip, Brooke! Just forget it. Right now, I'm just going to enjoy having him around. Like a big, strong protective bear, making things safe and fun. No need to complicate things.

"One more turn, Lucas. Just one more."

"You got it. I'll be right back."

He buys two tickets, and I see him answer his phone. He gives the attendant one of the tickets and points at me, but stays outside the carousel, ditzing with his phone. When the turn ends, I get out and approach him. Suddenly he's a different guy, more focused, a little distant. I guess I'm catching a glimpse of the successful Doctor Scott. Not as much fun to be with as my friend Lucas, but just as hot.

"Anything serious?"

"Well, yes and no. It's not life-or-death, but I should go to the hospital. Do you want to tag along? It's a fast errand."

I'm doubtful. "I'm not a big fan of hospitals."

"It's a big part of my life, Brooke. And I'd love to show you around a bit."

The alternatives are going back to the hotel and the sleeping slut, or walk around this godforsaken town by myself. I guess I could steal his room key and go diddle myself in his bed. With any luck they hadn't changed the sheets... Damn, I'm hopeless. I start laughing. "All right, McBroody. Do we have time for lunch first? I'm starving." He stares at me. He probably thinks I'm bonkers.

We stop at a hot dog cart, and I find out I have a new favorite food. I eat two of the things, with kraut, relish and dark mustard, washed down with root beer. My mouth died and went to heaven.

"This is so good!"

Lucas smiles, amused by my enthusiasm. "I like it too. I can see you're a cheap date."

I smirk at him. "Depends on the company."

"Thank you, I guess. What's your favorite food?"

"Well, let's see. Spaghetti and meatballs, deep dish pizza, french fries, New York street hot dogs, apparently, anything chocolate." I smile. "Whipped cream and a sweaty boy..."

A hot dog bite takes a wrong turn, and he starts coughing. I pat him in the back, until he composes himself again. "You trying to kill me Pretty Girl?"

I smile. "You should get used to it, _friend._ My mind is never far from the gutter."

"My mom owned a little diner when I was growing up. She is an amazing cook. That's my favorite food, anything from her kitchen." He looks straight into my eyes. "I enjoy mixing food and sex too"

"Hm." Not a boy. This is going to be fun.

The pediatrics wing has several rooms arranged around a nurse's station, with a large playroom in a corner. The place has a kind of forced cheerfulness to it, like it's trying to forget for a second it's a hospital. Lucas introduces me to the nursing staff as a friend, and gets in a deep conversation with the mother of a sickly looking ten-year-old. Busy people pass by, ignoring me, except a young resident. A tall, cocky black guy with merry eyes, who strikes a conversation that ends up with him asking me to go have a coffee with him. He's too much of a player for my taste. His talking a polished stream of bullshit. I much prefer awkward, sincere and a pinch of innocent in my boys. I bet, dollars to pennies, young Lucas was exactly like that. I finger the pendant he gave me.

I wander to the playroom, where half a dozen kids in hospital gowns are about. Since it's Sunday, most of them have family with them. The exception is a small girl, playing with a tea set and some stuffed animals in a corner. I approach her and ask. "Can I play with you?"

"Sure. You can have tea with us. I'm Abby, and these are Bo, Nuggy and Jellybean."

I sit down across her. "Hi everybody. I'm Brooke."

"Hi, Brooke. You're very pretty."

"Well, thank you Miss Abby. You're very pretty too." She has dirty blonde hair, huge gray eyes and stick thin arms and legs."

"You're a liar. But that's ok. I know you're just trying to be nice."

"Oh, you're wrong, sweetie. I can see you're sick. But sickness goes away. And under the sick, there's a very pretty little girl."

She smiles. "I have short bowel sickness. It means that my body doesn't use the food that I eat. They're going to give me a new bowel. A trans-plant."

"Wow. And then you'll be just like new."

"That's right. Can you read a book for me?"

"Of course."

She got up and picked up a book of fairy tales. I sat on an armchair, and she sat on my lap. I begun reading. A few minutes later Lucas came along and I started closing the book, but he sat on the floor next to the chair and gestured for me to continue reading. Soon a couple more small children joined us. I kept reading, until one of the nurses comes, and says Abby needs to get back to her bed.

He gives me a tour. The highlight is an empty OR, where his eyes brighten, and I imagine his big, strong hands, gloved and covered in blood, delicately sewing, or cutting, saving someone's life or limb.

"I grew up dreaming of basketball. Then this was taken away, and I dreamed of writing. This was never even in the running, it sneaked up on me when I wasn't looking. But I've had the cheering of the crowds and applause after reading my stuff to a roomful of fans. All of that is nothing compared to the high of the OR."

"I can't even begin to imagine, Lucas."

He looks into my eyes. "What's in your dreams, Pretty Girl?"

"A famous young actress, showing off one of my designs on the red carpet. My label in half of the closets in America. Opening the show of my own line in New York Fashion Week. A personal interview in Vogue about the latest trends. A picket fence and a bunch of children with the right guy."

"It seems to me that you're in the right track. Talent and ambition you seem to have plenty. Now you need hard work and a bit of luck."

I smirk. "That's the Lucas Scott recipe for success?"

"I think it's everybody's recipe of success."

I look around the OR. "And how does it feel, to have already achieved your dreams?"

"I haven't. I'm missing the picket fence."

As we're going back to the street, Lucas says. "The hospital has a volunteer program. You could come sometimes and play with the kids, or read stories. Some of the kids here stay for a long time, and their parents have to work, or live far, so the kids spend a lot of time alone."

"I think I'd like that."

We meet Rachel at a trattoria near the hotel. It's a small place, packed with tourists, with fake italian decor. Rachel is already seated when we walk in.

"Doc and Ho, over here."

"Hey, Red." Lucas gives her a kiss in the cheek."

"How was last night, Slut?"

"Hot and sweet, baby. Gotta love those professional athletes. What about you guys? Did you get down and dirty?"

"Nothing like that. We're just _friends_. But Broody here took very good care of me."

"I enjoyed the company too."

We order, and soon the food comes. As predicted, it's not very good. Lucas and I keep the light flirting we've been doing all day, and Rachel decides to tease us about it.

"Oh, you two are sooo cute! C'mon, spill it for aunt Rachel. Not even a little kiss?"

"Nope."

"You guys are kidding me. You two have enough chemistry to start a meth lab."

"Mind you own skanky fake ass, Slut."

"All right, never mind that. What are your plans?"

"I have plans for tonight, but I'd like to take you two out tomorrow. Unless you'd rather skip the boring doc's company. Promise I won't be hurt."

"There's nothing boring about you, Broody."

"And how would you know, Ho?"

"Can it. So, tomorrow?"

"It's fine. I just don't want to be the third wheel."

"Don't worry. We meet at the lobby, say half past six."

"Deal."

"So, you guys are coming back in three weeks?"

"We'll be driving a U-Haul across country. We want help moving in and a massage each afterwards."

Rachel looks at me. "A massage. Really?"

"Trust me."

"Count on it. Drop me a text when you're near Manhattan. I hope I'll be living upstairs by the time you guys come back."

Dinner comes, we eat and Lucas pays the check and leaves. I follow his backside as he walks out. "What's wrong with you, Ho?"

I sigh. "I so want a piece of that..."

"So, what's the problem?"

"I don't really get him. He's clearly into me. It's like he's afraid, or something."

"Maybe he is. Maybe he thinks you're out of his league."

I laugh, bitterly. "Out of his league. You don't know what you're talking about. He is rich, looks like a fucking GQ model, super duper smart and he cares. He really does. He is totally out of my league, not the other way around."

"You sell yourself short, Ho. Any guy, and I that definitely includes the Doc, should feel fortunate if you choose to spend time with him. You're one in a million."

"Thanks. Bullshit, but thanks."

"Listen. He is rich, single and thirty something. If he is not a player, he probably wants to settle down, start a family. Maybe that's what's holding him up. Maybe he feels you're not wife material, at least not at eighteen and a freshmen at college. Are you ready to drop out of your life and have his babies?"

"No! Of course not."

"So, what do you want with him?"

"Honestly, I have no idea." I play with the aquamarine pingent. "I just know I want him around. And I have the hots for him."

"Is he off limits?" I think a bit about it. "Nah. You can go for it." I may not know what to do with him. But I think I already have Lucas wrapped around my fingers. It will be interesting to see how far Rachel gets.

 **Lucas**

She opens the door wearing her cute little smile, a loose tank top and boy shorts. She seems to be rested and in a good mood. I give her a pair of long-stemmed red roses, which makes her go hunt for somewhere to put them, while I drop a suit bag and my backpack in her sofa. I like this little silent game of ours. Before I make my mind to say something she's back, and we kiss. She tastes of mouthwash and a bit of coffee, and by the sweat, she was probably exercising when I knocked.

I'm sorry to break the make out session, but we do need to talk a bit.

"Hey, Allie. Hi."

She gives me a hungry look. "Hi."

"God, you're sexy."

"I know that. I'm sure you didn't interrupt what we were doing to impart that information."

I laugh. "No. That was just me being polite."

Her smile broadens a bit. "All right. You look pretty nice too. But overdressed. Strip down to your boxers and we can talk a little."

I do as told, and speak. "Have you eaten?"

"I had a sort of breakfast an hour ago. Did you?"

"Yeah, I had dinner. But I brought a apfelstrudel and some vanilla ice cream, in case you're interested." I open my backpack and take out the bag with the strudel and the ice cream, which she puts away.

"Thanks. That may come in handy later." She takes me by the hand leads me to her bedroom. We lie down. Facing each other.

"I received confirmation of Johnny's Ostheogenesis Imperfecta today. I discharged him, and I'll see him as a clinical patient for treatment."

"Great."

"I'm a little fucked up today. It's nothing to do with you."

"Tell me, Big Boy."

"I spent the day with the Brunette from the picture. Brooke. She's got under my skin, bigtime."

"Did anything happen?"

"Just flirting. Let me put it in simple terms. She is eighteen. If she was twenty-one, I'd be coming after her with everything I've got. As it is, I think she still has a lot of playing, of exploring to do before settling for anyone. There is a big risk of me getting burned, as she changes interests, and there's the risk of stifling her journey, if she goes for it."

"I see. Age is a pretty elastic thing, you know? You don't know how much life this girl has packed in her eighteen years. My suggestion. If you're in doubt, do nothing. Keep her close, but don't move forward. Get to know her. Eventually things might become clear."

"The advice of maturity. Be patient."

"Yeah. She left you with a very short fuse, I assume. Close your eyes. Think of her."

I close my eyes and imagine her. Allie pulls down my boxers and works on me with her hands and mouth. It takes me thirty seconds to come inside her mouth. She giggles. "Short fuse indeed. Can I meet your girl?"

"I'm taking both of them out tomorrow. I was thinking dinner and a show. You free?"

"Why don't I meet you at hotel bar for a nightcap? I could stay afterwards. Just text me when you're heading there."

"How do I introduce you?"

"I'm your girlfriend. Is that ok?"

This is going to be fun. "That's fine. Does that apply to the workplace as well?"

"Oh, yes! Best cure for insistent Don Juans. Just remember to swing by and kiss me in public once in a while."

"Oh, such hardship."

"Can we get back to business?"

"I thought you'd never ask."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

 **Lucas**

My first stop in Tarrytown is the gym. I like to watch at least thirty minutes of scrimmage, imprinting on precisely how the players move. During a break, Leroy and Tyson approach me. "

"Hey, Doc!"

"Hi guys."

Leroy grabs me by the shoulders and addresses the whole team. "You guys won't believe it. We're at a club Saturday night, Tyson, LeVon and I and in walks the doc, with two of the hottest babes I've ever seen."

"Way to go, Doc!"

"You guys should have seen those two. He wasn't greedy either. One of them went home with Tyson here."

"Jeez, man! That redhead rocks. I tried to get her to go out with me again, but she blew me off."

"Next time try to show her some lovin' man. This thing of watching the Hallmark channel all night is getting old." They all laugh.

"That brunette was something else, man! She even knows her b'ball! I tried to get her number, but that one went home with the Doc."

"Yeah, Dawg! Nice going."

I get tired of the whole embarrassing exchange and decide to end it. I pick up a ball, bounce it a bit and do a jump shot, from near the midfield line. Swoosh. Nothing but net. That generates a little silence.

"What was that, Doc?"

"Can you do it again?"

I shrug, pick up the ball, bounce it and shoot. Nothing but net again. Coach laughs. "So, you kept it up."

"I guess I did."

"Listen, guys. Dr. Scott here was captain of the high school team that won the North Carolina state title back in '02. He had one of the meanest jump shots I've ever seen. What you've just seen is an encore of the winning shot of that game. Can you still move?"

"Well..." I pick up a ball, dribble, do a fast run up to the basket and dunk it, hanging from the rim for a second or two. I don't have the endurance, although HCM meds improved a lot over fifteen years, but I still got the moves. I can actually keep up with Nate, winning one-on-one about one time out of three.

The team looks stunned. After a couple of seconds, Leroy slaps me in the shoulder. "Ain't you full of surprises, Doc! Why don't you join us for scrimmage every once in a while?" I glance at Coach and he shrugs.

"Fine, I will." It's going to be embarrassing, but I can't really pass that up. "I have one request, though. I'd like to bring my little brother too, if he is in town."

They look puzzled, but Coach opens a big smile. "He's keeping it up too, Doc?"

"He sure does."

"Well, that would be an honor. It would be nice to see the you two playing together again." He blows his whistle. "Now, back to practice, ladies!"

Later I ask Coach Wellerman whether the state title had anything to do with me getting the job. He just smiles and says that they like to work with people who can really appreciate the game.

And then I find myself itching to tell Brooke about scrimmaging with the Knicks.

 **Brooke**

The Victoria's Secret design department is in an old office building on East eighty-seven, near First. There's no indication of what's functioning there. The elevator opens to a large open floor, with dozens of people looking too busy to pay attention to a lost newbie next to the elevator. I can feel the energy of the place, the creative juices flowing about, and I'm truly excited that I'll be working here soon. I approach one of the people working there, a skinny, androgynous looking twenty-something, with purple hair and funky clothes.

"Hi, I'm looking for Ms. Lassiter."

The person looks up with a hostile grimace, and points at the back end of the room, to the right. Most of the people around are working individually with design software computers, but there are several working on paper, some in pairs or triples and even some people working with samples of fabric, decoration and functional elements, like buttons or zippers. I cross the room successfully avoiding bumping on anyone or anything, and reach the back wall. I go to the rightmost door and knock timidly. After I get no response, I knock louder. Someone answers from the other side.

"C'mon in!"

I cautiously open the door and slide in. The room is a little reception area, with a desk, several filing cabinets, a two seat sofa and a desk, with a pretty brunette behind it, doing her nails.

"Hi, I'm Brooke..."

"You're the nine o'clock. Have a seat. Ms Lassiter will be with you shortly."

She goes right back doing her nails, and occasionally answering her phone. They say New Yorkers are hostile. I kinda find their shortness refreshing, after all the fake politeness back home. There, most people think I'm rude. Here, I suspect I'm gonna fit right in. Truth is I'm nervous as a polecat and the last thing I need is inane chatter. I play with my pendant and try to remember one of Lucas' pep talks.

A door opens and a platinum blonde head makes an appearance. "Monica, where is... Ah! There you are. You must be Brooke. I'm Veronique Lassiter, chief lunatic in this asylum, and this very busy person is my assistant Monica." The girl grimaces and flips her boss the bird, and Ms. Lassiter giggles.

"Come on in. Brooke. I've been looking forward to meet you." I must have looked very puzzled, because she giggled again. Mrs. Lassiter is a platinum blonde, tall and skinny, shoulder length straight hair, mid forties, Dressed stylish, but with an informal vibe, white and navy top, no sleeves and high collar, a long dark blue skirt and boots and a mustard wool cardigan draped in the back of her chair, ethnic jewelry. She has a broad mouth with thin lips, a sharp blade of a nose, faint laugh lines and green expressive eyes that, right this second, glow with good humor and curiosity. "I was very impressed with your portfolio, young lady. My job here is to discover, nurture and channel creative talent, in order to keep Victoria's Secret fresh and unique, and from your portfolio, you're one of the best I've come across in a while."

I look at my feet, thoroughly embarrassed. "Hm. Thanks."

"Someone as pretty as you should be a little more accustomed to compliments, Brooke."

I look into her eyes. "To my appearance, yes. To my ability, no."

"Well, as an intern, you're expected to spend twenty hours per week in our creative sweatshop outside, basically under order from one of our staff designers. They would have you sharpening and detailing sketches, inputting them in our system, researching materials, helping to dress the models for shoots or the runway, and a few other things. Hours are pretty flexible. You sign into the system as you come in, and sign out as you leave. We're open from six in the morning to ten at night, Monday through Saturday, and you can come at any time. This is our, say, standard package. I have something slightly different in mind for you."

That peaks my interest. "All right. What?"

"I want you here eight hour per week plus and a half-shift in one of our retail outlets, to learn how our customers interact with our products. I also want original designs from you. I'll count each one as sixteen hours of work, which you can do here, or anywhere you want. This means one original piece every two weeks or so. These will be evaluated by our senior staff, and those that meet our standards may go into production. Don't get too upset if we don't approve any of your designs for several months. This is a steep learning process. I have added a little incentive clause to your contract. Any personal design of yours we put in production will earn you point five percent of gross retail, as a year-end bonus. In addition, you're supposed to start September 5th, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"I'm starting you today, with a little homework. I expect you back here in five weeks with half a dozen design proposals for any of our lines. To inspire you, personnel will be issuing you a V.S. Credit card. Go into any of our retail stores or the e-commerce site,, pick whatever you want, and charge it to the card. We'll pick up the tab. I want this used, Brooke. I want at least a hundred items charged the card before you come back."

"Don't worry. I'm real good at shopping."

"Any questions?"

"I could use some samples of individual designs in the form they are are usually presented. "

"I'll have Monica take you to Personnel, while I put together a sample package for you. Come back here when you're done signing stuff." She gets up and extends a hand. Her handshake is dry and firm. "I suspect I'm going to enjoy working with you, Brooke."

"Thank you, Ms. Lassiter. I think I'm going to enjoy working for you too."

"You should call me Ver. Most of my friends either call me that, or shithead. I answer to both, most of the time."

I giggle. "I'm either Brooke or slut."

Her eyes brighten for a moment. "Our contracts have a morals clause. What that means is, please, avoid arrests or sleeping with married celebrities." She looks closely at me. "Looking like you do, you may be asked to model, at some point. Is that something you'd consider?"

"I don't know. I like to show off my stuff, but a giant outdoor in underwear?" I smile. "Well, maybe."

"You're going to be interacting with our marketing people, and they are always looking for talent. As you know, we like to stay away from anorexic storks in our Angels."

"Well, that's cool, I guess. But, my focus is design, not showing off my fine, sculptural ass."

She laughs. "Understood. See you in a bit."

I play with my pendant. I think I'm going to love working for Ver. I'm just dying to tell Lucas about my new job.

 **Lucas**

It's half past four when I finally get down to the ER. Leroy arrived after lunch, and I made a high resolution MRI and CAT scan of his left forearm and hand. Indeed, as suspected, some of his wrist tendons show adhesions usually associated with a improperly healed injury. The plan is to perform a laser ablation microsurgery to remove the adhesions, and immobilize his hand and forearm for a couple of weeks. The procedure is simple enough, and I've done similar work several times, so Callie and I agreed it is not necessary to bring in a specialist. Even if I'll be operating on a multimillion dollar limb. I booked an OR and reserved the microsurgery equipment for Wednesday.

I find Allie stitching a large scalp wound on an older gentleman. Not unexpectedly, she is a very neat stitcher, despite not being a surgeon.

"Hey."

She smiles. "Hey, yourself."

"I'm leaving. Just came to say goodbye."

"Gimme a couple of minutes, we'll go for a coffee."

The coffee cart in the ground floor had a little line. While we waited, we gave each other a picturesque French kiss that had quite a few people staring.

"There. High school style. We're an item."

She gives me one of her smoldering looks. "You're such a great kisser, Big boy."

"You're damn good too. I'm glad we can continue what we just started later."

On my way back to the hotel, I stop at the offices of the wealth management firm of Welles & Sons. My own manager is a balding midget with watery blue eyes and a razor sharp mind, called John Welles. The place is beyond posh, smelling of quiet power and vast amounts of old money. At a net value around fifteen million, I'm not the poorest client of the firm, but I'm far from the richest.

"Hey, John. Anything to report?"

"Good earnings on the medical tech stock. Lost a little on overseas investments. Looking good overall."

"The walk-up?"

"I don't understand why you insist on buying that. The address is all wrong..."

"Never mind, John. I have my reasons."

"The documentation is in order. I'm still waiting for the report on the physical condition of the place. Any instructions?"

"I'm willing to offer the asking price, if the owner includes the full garage."

"Why?"

"Security, actually. It gives me control of an alternate egress for the building. And I do have two cars and a bike."

"All right. Noted. Anything else?"

"I want to move in sometime next week."

"That means rushing the closing. It might cost you."

"That's fine. Within reason, of course."

"Very well, Lucas. Anything else?"

"Not for the time being. What about you? Any recommendations?"

"Keep an eye open for opportunities in the health and sports sectors."

"Noted. Bye."

"Goodbye."

I have a quick shower, and manage to put on a clear pair of boxers when I get the insistent knock on my door. "Just a sec, Brooke. I'm coming." I open the door and she barges in. Lucas, I want to talk to you, before we go out..."

Again, Brooke gives me the Christmas morning feeling. Wonderful surprises, big and small, wrapped in a heartbreakingly beautiful little package. She is wearing the green Valentino from yesterday, with silver stilettos, hair in a soft cascade down her back, jewelry and make up to match.

"Wow. Stunning, Pretty Girl."

She stops and smiles, twirling around. "You'd seen the dress."

"I'm admiring the whole package."

She slides a manicured finger down my chest. "Well, thanks. I like your whole package too, but I think you need a different look."

I had a Bill's Brothers suit and a white shirt pressed and ready, and she watches me dressing as she talks.

"I went to the interview at Victoria's Secret this morning."

She looks excited, eyes bright, as if she doesn't fit in her skin. "So, it went well."

"It went so well, you won't believe it! I love my new boss. Her name is Veronique, and she is so cool. I can't wait for you to meet her. She is going to give me a free hand in designing for them. The place is a mess, but there's such an energy! I'm going to love working there. And I'm going to learn so much. Ver, that's Veronique, said I'm one of the best she's seen in a while. Oh, Broody. I just hope I don't disappoint..."

I laugh a bit at her tirade. "You're going to do just fine, Pretty Girl."

She hugs me, still bouncing around. "I haven't told you the best part. They gave me a card, a Victoria's Secret card, that I can go to any store of theirs, pick whatever I want, and they will pay for it. You should see the purple underwear set I'm wearing. It's to die for. "She starts unzipping her dress to show me the items in question, but I physically stop her.

"Please, Pretty Girl. I'm not made of stone."

She gives me a sharp look. "If I can see you in your underwear, you can see me in mine, _friend_ ."

"If I see you in sexy underwear right now, I'm not sure I will be able to keep my hands to myself, _friend."_

 _"_ And what if I want your hands on me, Broody?"

"I'd say I'm flattered, and that we can talk about this when you come back in three weeks. We shouldn't start anything now."

She looks at me defiantly. She is probably used to getting her way in this. "You sure you don't want a piece of this? Just a little fun?"

I look straight into her eyes. Her eyes are shining, with defiance, desire and a bit of fear. I enunciate slowly and as gently as I can. "There is nothing casual in what's happening between us." We stare at each other for a bit. I feel the nearly irresistible impulse to kiss her. She is staring at me with longing matching my own, and confusion. I break the moment by speaking. "I don't want either one of us hurt, Brooke. We need to talk, and we need to take it slowly. When you come back from California, you can model all your pretty underwear for me, and we will talk, all right?"

She pouts, speaking in a little girl voice. "Promise?"

"Pinky swear, Pretty Girl."

"All right." She seems to recover her bubbly mood. "Adult relationships suck ass, Broody. I'll take a cute surfer any day."

I laugh. "That's the spirit. Anyways, something happened today that I wanted to tell you too." I'm not going to contemplate exactly how the idea of Brooke in the arms of a blonde surfer makes me feel. She probably doesn't enjoy thinking of me and Allie either.

"What? You broke up with your girlfriend?"

Bingo. I almost laugh. Instead, I give her an ironic comeback. "You want me to stay lonely here, while you party with the surf boys?"

"Well... yes."

I laugh a bit. "At least you're honest."

"Why, you aren't? _"_

"In truth, I'm not crazy about you and the surfer boys either."

She gives me the happiest smile I've seen on her yet. "That's what I wanted to hear."

"It's too much, too soon. Keep your life, and I'll keep mine for now. I can live with a little jealousy, if you can."

She thinks a bit. "That's fine." There's a long silence, while I put on my shoes and she fidgets in place, avoiding my eyes.

"You'll meet my girlfriend tonight. She is supposed to join us a bit for drinks after dinner. I'll tell you a secret. We are just two adults, keeping company for fun. It's not deep, and it's not meant to last."

She looks skeptical. "You mean, you and her are casual. We are not."

"That's right."

"I guess I'll see that tonight. What is it that you wanted to tell me after all?"

"Ah. I almost forgot. I'll be joining the scrimmage on some of the Knicks practice."

"Oh, wow! That's big." She narrows her eyes. "Can you hold your own?"

"I'm afraid they're going to hand me my ass. But I can take humiliation."

She looks as excited as I feel. "I'll want to know all the details."

"I'll be happy to report every sorry detail."

 **Brooke**

The show was great and watching Rachel make a fool of herself flirting with Lucas over dinner was also pretty entertaining. I keep mulling over the conversation with Lucas. There's so much there to think about. I'm not used to frustration, and every time I look at him, looking gorgeous and relaxed in that suit and tie, smiling at me, I feel the heat right between my legs. And I know the jackass feels the same way. Now his fuckbuddy is coming, and I'm curious and afraid in equal parts.

She is wearing capri skinny jeans and a sleeveless silk button shirt and low white wedges. My first impression is old. She's my mother's age, give or take. Looks a lot better, though, despite the struggle mom puts into it. If I look half that good at her age.. The second impression is the one that really kills me. She looks beautiful, smart and classy. Small smile, bright amused eyes, eyebrows I'd kill for, a fond look in Lucas direction. I feel like an overdressed little girl. My heart skips a beat, as I realize that, instead of standing and kissing her, Lucas has a hand firmly grabbing one of mine.

"Allie, these are Brooke and Rachel. Girls, my girlfriend Allie."

"It's nice to meet you two. You guys look amazing."

Politeness not being Rachel's strong suit, I decided to reply. "Well, thank you Allie. You're looking mighty fine yourself."

"Thank you. I know you two are going back to California tomorrow, and I wanted the opportunity to meet you in person. Lucas has spoken a lot about you two."

I give a half-smile. "Good things, I hope."

She looks into my eyes. "Yes. You've made quite an impression." I feel curiosity and a bit of concern in her eyes, but no hostility. She's not threatened by me. She saw his hand on mine. It should be killing her. Or maybe, Lucas is telling the truth. They just aren't very deep. I realize that the same can't be said about me. Losing him, whatever it is, little thing that lies between us, would hurt me. I begin to understand Lucas' cautious approach. The stakes between us may be higher than I know how to play. I relax and smile at her.

"I sure hope so. I work hard at it." Lucas squeezes my hand and lets go.

"I understand you're probably going to be neighbors."

Rachel decides to take part in the conversation. "Is that true, Doc? Are you buying the fourth floor apartment?"

"I made them a good offer, but I haven't heard yet."

"I hope they take it. We're going to love having you on top of us."

I can see Allie's smile deepening a bit. Is she actually amused by Rachel? "Would you let us know?"

"Sure. I'll drop you guys a text as soon as I know something definite. I'll be waiting for you two, to help with the move, and for the promised massage."

Allie looks at him, amused. "You promised them a massage?"

"Well, Brooke asked for it, and I said I would do it. They will be arriving from a cross country drive."

She pokes him in the ribs. "You're just trying to get your hands on them."

"True. But they will enjoy it. I can give you one after your next twenty-four hour shift. I'm really very good."

"I can attest to that."

"You're on, big boy. Next Sunday, noon, my place. I'll cook you lunch afterwards."

"I think we should head up. You two have a nice trip. Keep in touch."

Rachel gives him a hug and a kiss in the cheek, pressing her body against him a second too long. I also give him a hug. He whispers in my ear. "I'm going to miss you, Pretty Girl." Allie shakes Rachel's hand, but gives me a brief hug. She looks me in the eyes. "Have fun, girl. He'll be here waiting for you." Lucas signs the tab to his room and leaves with Allie.

I'm still processing their parting statements when Rachel sighs. "Well, that's one question answered."

"What?"

"That is one well-fucked little bitch, whore. Our boy is good."

"I have no idea how you see this, so I'll take your word for it."

"What's eating you?" She looks at me and scowls. "It's him, isn't it? You're jealous of the little old bitch, aren't you? You're falling for Doc."

"Shut up, Slut."

"The queen of cool herself, Brooke nobody-can-touch-my-heart Davis is falling for a boy? It's about time, too!"

"You're crazy. I like him. I'm not falling for him."

"Keep telling yourself that, Whore."

Later at night I keep tossing and turning. I already went a couple of rounds with my little vibrator, trying to settle myself down enough to sleep, but that doesn't work. It's not Lucas and Ally, a couple of floors up, although I can't deny I'm green with envy. It's something else. The idea that you should take things slow because you might get hurt. Suddenly, like a curtain rising, I get it. In a rather painful way. I look back at my only experience at a relationship. With Julian. He liked me, so we went straight in. He was a little awkward at first, but soon he was proficient enough, and I had a nice couple of months of single-partner fun. Then he said he loved me. I was like Allie, enjoying the company, but I didn't really care. I was fond of him, but I never really fell for him. He knew that. That's what made him mean, needing somebody who didn't need him back. He got so clingy and annoying, and I just pushed him away, disgusted. Suddenly I realize what I did. I broke his heart for my own amusement, and, when I was done, I just discarted him. Suddenly I'm ashamed. I owe that boy a huge apology, although I'm perfectly aware that won't do much good now. I promise myself I'll be more careful in the future. I think of Lucas, playing with my aquamarine. I'm pretty sure I can trust him. He will not just break my heart on purpose like that. I'm not so sure he can trust me. I know I can be a fickle little bitch. Suddenly I'm happy it's Allie up there with him. He is right. I'm not ready for him. Not yet.


	7. Chapter 7

AN: Sorry for the delay. Hope you all enjoy it. There's a bit of S&M at the end, and if you don't like it, you might want to skip the scene with the twins. Thank you for the reviews and the interest.

Chapter 7

 **Lucas**

I'm playing point guard for the white team. In twenty minutes, I managed nine points, until they discovered that one six foot six blocker pretty much eliminates my far away three-pointer, half a dozen assists and got the ball stolen four times. I wouldn't call it a humiliation, but it did cut me down to size, even if I suspect they were going easy on me. It was also the most fun I've had, since that day I spent with Brooke. I sit next to coach, who pats me in the back with a smile. "That was not bad, doc. If you work harder on protecting the ball, you can give my guys some real practice."

"Thanks, Coach. I appreciate it. I won't bother you guys again."

"Oh, no. I want you back on Thursday. Is your heart ok?"

"It's fine. Truth is, with the drugs I take these days, I could have played whole games in high school, and I might even have played college."

"You and your brother playing for the same NCAA team would have been a joy to see. Are you ever bringing him?"

"He's coming next week."

The players stop by as they hit a break. "Hey doc! What was that? Can't keep your hands on the ball?"

"I make my living with a knife, not a ball."

They laugh. "Maybe you should try cutting up the ball instead of bouncing it."

 _Lucas: Just played w/ Knicks._

 _Brooke: Soooo?_

 _Lucas: Humbled, not humiliatd_

 _Brooke: Nice going, bfrnd! ;)_

I stare at my phone. "bfrnd?" Damn, I miss her.

I buzz Allie in, and she takes a minute to climb up the stairs. I wait for her with the door open.

"A fourth floor walk up? That's gonna get old." She walks in, containers of chinese food in hand. Her mouth opens a bit as she takes in the space. "Wow. You could train horses in this place."

I pick up the food and place it in the kitchen counter. There's a pair of chrome and fiberglass high chairs next to the counter that are the only seats in the house. "It looks bigger empty."

"Still... Why do you need such a big place?"

I shrug. "I don't know. Wanna tour?"

"Sure."

The tour ends at the bathroom adjoing the master bedroom. The room itself is big enough for a small cocktail party. There's a double sink, a separate toilet, a huge wall mirror, a large, glass enclosed shower stall with one of these multiple-jet shower heads and a Jacuzzi big enough for a threesome. Allie looks at the Jacuzzi with that unreadable smile of hers and removes her shoes. "Do you have towels?"

"I bought a couple of towels this morning. They're in a bag in the other room."

"Go get them, big boy. We need to take this bathtub out for a spin."

I come back with the towels, and she's already filling the tub. "Do you have any bath salts?"

"I think I saw an open container left somewhere here." Indeed, there's a little open container of jasmine scented bath salts left in a corner. I hand it to her and she pours some in, the sweet scent filling the room. She wiggles out of her skirt, and I help her pull out her top. She is wearing a very comfortable-looking pair of cotton panties and bra. I unhook the bra from the back, and cup one of her breasts, kissing the light brown nipple, teasing it until it hardens. She hums with pleasure.

She takes a step backwards, removing her panties in a slow, seductive motion.

"Looking nice."

Her smile deepens. "Nice, hm?" She steps, fully naked into the bathtub and sits facing me, eyes bright with expectation. "You're wearing too much clothing." She wants a little show, and I'm happy to provide it. She plays with herself while I undress, the tip of her tongue showing between her lips. I join her in the tub, after turning off the water and turning on the pumps. She jumps me as I set myself down, kissing me and impaling herself on me. "What, no foreplay?"

"Fuck foreplay."

She starts moving slowly, making little whimpering noises while she does it. I close my eyes, losing myself in the sensation. "Yeah, fuck it." It takes me a little while to get there with her. Once I do, I hold her to slow her down a bit, let the ride last a little longer. I arch my back, lifting her from the water, making our dance slower and deeper. Very soon I feel her muscles spasming. I haven't finished, but I'm very close. While she is still coming, I lift her up and turn us around, settling myself between her legs. She crosses her legs around my back and bites my shoulder. The sharp little pain and our joint motion brings me right over the edge.

We lie together on the air mattress, under a comforter, her head resting on my chest. My mind does its restless wandering. This thing with Allie, sex and friendship, still sits a little awkward in my mind. She makes it easy, first by being sweet and very down-to-earth about it, and second, by her unhinhibited enthusiasm when the clothes come off. I recall the amazingly sexy scene of her pleasuring herself in the tub, as she watches me undress. Then a picture of a naked Brooke doing the same thing, bubbles up spontaneouly in my mind.

"Hey! Ready for an encore?"

I look at her. I know I can just tell her. "A stray thought about Brooke."

She laughs, and grabs me, squezzing gently. "She would be pleased to know you think of her in these terms."

A bit of my inner conflict must have shown in my face, because she turns serious. "Don't worry too much. Soon she'll come back, and whatever happens, happens. It shouldn't stop us from having a bit of fun now."

"Is that what we're having? Fun?"

She giggles and tickles me. "What? You think this is work?"

I wiggle to escape her tickling and laugh. I have grown quite fond of this woman. I'm pretty sure this thing we are doing will turn into a lifelong friendship. "I get more out of it than just pleasure. So do you."

"I know. As long as I can walk away without hurting you, and vice-versa, we're fine."

I look into her eyes, and what I see is happy, relaxed and sweet Allie. She's told me there's a guy out there that owns a big part of her heart. She calls him "the jackass". He has no idea what he's missing.

"I guess we're fine, then."

 _Lucas: "Moved in today."_

 _Brooke: "Grt! Celebrate?"_

 _Lucas: "Me, Allie, Jacuzzi."_

 _Brooke:"Oh, the envy. Just kill me!"_

 _Lucas: "Party when you arrive?"_

 _Brooke: "Cute bball players?"_

 _Lucas: "Of course!"_

 _Brooke:"Count me in. Missya! Bye. xxx."_

 _Lucas:"Missya more. Bye. Xox."_

I wake up with the buzzer from downstairs. I look around. Allie is gone. I answer the buzzer, and, much to my surprise, It's Nathan. He climbs up and I open the door for him. We half-embrace.

"Hey, man. So good to see you."

"You too. So this is the place, hm? Looks nice."

"Just look around. Wanna coffee?"

"Had some at the airport. You're just waking up?"

"Yeah. How's everybody?"

"Just fine. Jamie had his first varsity game last week. Sixteen points, three assists."

"Nice. Did they win?"

"No. But they didn't embarass themselves. By the way, Haley sends her love."

"Please, send mine back."

Nathan stops and stares at me. "Do you have a girl here?"

"No, but she was here until a couple of hours ago. How the hell do you know?"

"I caught I sniff of something girly. And you look too happy. Who is she?"

"Allie. Colleague from work. Girlfriend of sorts."

"Of sorts."

"Not too serious."

He smiles. "She hot?"

I think again of Allie in the bathtub and smile. "Sizzling."

"Nice going. She's the first after she-who-should-not-be-named, right?"

"I had a date before, but it didn't lead to anything." I think about mentioning Brooke, but that's a bit too hard to explain.

"Good going, man. You looked kinda down back in Tree Hill, but I'm glad to see things are looking up."

"You up for a little pick-me-up game?"

He looks surprised. "Always. But don't you have to work?"

"Yes. You'll see."

By the time we get to Tarrytown, Nathan knows where we are going. He's never seen the Knicks training facility, but he is curious. The team is warming up as we get to the court. I introduce Nathan to the staff, although most of them already knew his face.

Coach pats Nathan in the back. "So, are you ready to play with my team for a bit?"

"What do you mean?"

Coach looks at me and smiles. "So, it's a little surprise. I see. For the past few weeks, your brother has been playing on some of our practices. He was supposed to bring you along when you were in town. So, why don't you two go warm up with the team? Scrimmage starts in fifteen."

We start warming up, but Nathan is looking a little dazed. "So, little brother. Do you like your surprise?"

"Are you kidding me?" He frowns at me. "Can you hold your own with these guys?"

"Sometimes. Coach is expecting a sample of the old Scott magic. Ready?"

He gives a huge smile. "I was born ready, big brother."

It takes a little while to get back on the groove. We fumble some passes, get easily blocked, but soon we're managing to confound their defense with some fast, unexpected plays, Nathan is still an awesome player, fast and powerful. I make a couple of long shots, and he manages a few nice dunks. We play for about twenty minutes, rest, and play for another twenty. As Coach ends the practice, the team gathers around Nathan. Some of the older players knew Nathan from his college or NBA days, and even the young guys had seen him play one time or another.

Coach approaches me, slapping my back. "That was a good practice, Doc. It was great to see you two in action."

"Thanks." I look at Nathan, beaming at the other players. "It was fun."

We're back at the car, driving to the hospital. His pitcher is going to show up late this afternoon, so I'll check on my post-ops, do a quick assist on a clavicle repair with Callie and maybe take Nathan to meet Allie before his guy shows up.

"So, I take it you enjoyed my little surprise."

"Enjoyed? It was the most fun I had in ages. Those guys are good!"

"Of course. The thing is, you're good too."

He looks serious. "Luke... I know it's crazy, but. Could I go back?"

His question surprises me. He quit before pressing medical reasons forced him, which was a great idea. I've been keeping track of his physical condition since, and, although there is some remaining weakness in his lower back, things are quite a bit more stable now than they used to be when he played. "As your doctor, I would say you do have a couple of seasons in you, if you want them."

"What about as my brother?"

"Depends on how much you want it. You have a business to run, and your family has become used to having you around. There's risk of injury. Not as serious as when you left the game, but it is still there. Think carefully."

"What if I could play for the Knicks?"

That blows my mind. "Really?"

"One of the assistants floated the idea, very casually."

"I would be much more at ease if I could keep an eye on you myself."

'I'll let you know."

We park the car, and walk towards the hospital's main entrance. From a distance, I see Allie, talking to a guy I don't recognize. She's speaking softly, but the set of her shoulders and the tight gestures suggests she is less than happy. I tell Nathan to wait for a bit and step into her line of sight. She smiles as she sees me, so that I approach cautiously. The guy is short and slight, almost pretty and with a pleasant voice and a heavy australian accent. I slide my arm across Allie's back, and she molds herself against me. The guy is both surprised and dismayed by my presence and familiarity with her. Allie introduces us. "Lucas, this is Chase, my ex-husband. She gives him a sweet, poisonous smile. Lucas is my boyfriend."

I greet him with a little smile. "A pleasure."

He gives me a haughty once over. "The pleasure is all yours, I'm sure."

I exchange a glance with Allie, who adds in a dry tone. "He feels the need to compensate with bad manners for his small dick." I shrug. I hadn't seen Allie's mean side before.

He gives Allie a death glare, which she answers with her little smile. "Anyways, what can I say to Cuddy?"

"Forget Cuddy. You tell your boss that if he wants anything from me, he's gonna have to come and ask it himself."

"And that's your last word."

"Yes."

"Very well, then." He turns around and walks stiffly back to the parking structure. I look at Allie, and she is still a little tense. I lift her chin up and give her a long soft kiss on the lips. "Hm. You're good."

"Thanks. Can I introduce someone too? I promise this one is fun." I beckon Nathan and he approches with a big smile. "Allie, this is my little brother Nathan. Nathan, Allie, my girlfriend."

He shakes her hand. "You were absolutely right."

"What were you right about, Lucas?"

"I mentioned you, and he asked me if you were hot. I said "sizzling"."

She gives us her small, pleased smile. "Well, thank you both." She gives Nathan a once-over. They do seem to grow handsome in your family. Are there more of you?"

"There's a fifteen-year-old that got us both beat."

"Another brother?"

"No. My son."

"Aren't you a bit too young?"

Both Nathan and I laugh. "Yeah."

"You boys take me out to lunch later?"

"Around one. Gotta assist in a surgery at eleven."

"I'll be at the ER. Just find me there."

"Very nice to meet you, Allie."

"Likewise, Nathan."

We watch her as she walks away. "That's one very cool girl, big brother. Good job!"

"Don't read too much into it. I told you, it's not serious."

He frowns at me. "And why the hell not? I saw that kiss."

"There's someone else. For both of us, actually."

"And who's your someone else? You not referring to..."

"No!" I pick up my cell and show him a picture of Brooke.

"Wow!" He looks again at the picture and frowns. "How old is she?"

"Eighteen."

He seems thoughtful. "Damn. Interesting life you have."

I laugh. "You could say that."

 **Brooke**

I've spent most of my morning packing boxes, and I'm not even half done. I can't take all this stuff to our apartment, so I'll be placing a fair part of it in storage, together with my car. I'm closing a box when I hear the sound of high heels coming from behind me. I turn around, an involuntary smile beginning to form on my lips. She is wearing a two-piece blue Chanel with a white silk blouse, a nice pair of white Manolos with a matching clutch. As usual, she looks cold and distant. I am sweaty, grimy and dressed on an old sports jersey some boy left, and exercise shorts, so I do what I usually do under the circumstances. I yell "Mommy!", and jump her with a tight hug. She stiffens and quickly pushes me away with a disgusted look.

"Brooke. What do you think you're doing?"

I give her blinky puppy dog eyes, and use a girly tone. "Hugging my mommy."

"Oh, quit your games, you stupid child. Are you ever growing up?"

I really hate this woman. I place my hands under my breasts and wiggle them at her. "Look, mommy. All grown up now." What can I say? She brings out the worst in me.

She gives me a tired look. "Call me Victoria." She looks around, taking in the closed boxes, and the half-full ones. Her eyes stop when she sees a couple of unfinished sketches I left on the bed. She picks one up and stares at it, frowning in concentration. She can't keep the surprise out of her voice. "These are pretty good. Is this your work?"

I take the incomplete designs out of her hands and shove them in a folder where I've been keeping my work. "Just something I've been playing with." I'm halfway done with my "homework", and I've been enjoying it.

"So. Where are you going?"

"New York."

"Why? You're done with high school?"

"I sent you an invitation to my graduation. Did you get it?"

"No... wait! I do recall seeing something like this. I thought it was a joke."

I play with my acquamarine. "It wasn't."

"What are you going to do in New York?"

"Oh, I don't know, mother. I'll probably ditz around the party circuit until I can snag myself a suggar daddy." I can feel the tears coming and I try to hold myself together.

"But why New York?"

"Why not?"

She sneers at me. "Don't count on any further help, young lady. The moment you step out of this house you're on your own."

"I've been on my own since I was ten years old. I can take care of myself."

She opens her purse and gets out a checkbook. That's what passes for affection in my family. She fills out a check and hands it to me. "Here. This is your graduation gift. Use it wisely, because you're not getting another penny from me."

It's a hundred thousand dollar check, made out to me. I feel the fury swirling in my mind. She thinks she has earned gratitude with this stupid check. I feel like ripping it to shreds and throwing in in her face, but I don't do it. I know exactly what I want to do with this money. I give her a bleak look as I fold the check and stick it in my bra. "Thank you mother. Please transmit my thanks to father."

She turns her back and begins to walk away. "Take care of yourself, Brooke."

I keep playing with my pendant, as I feel the tears begin to roll down. "I will."

 _Brooke: "Just saw my mother."_

 _Lucas: "So?"_

 _Brooke: "I hate the bitch."_

 _Lucas: "I'm sorry."_

 _Brooke: "Don't be. She gave me some money."_

 _Lucas: "If you can't get love..."_

 _Brooke: "Kkkkk. I wan't to start an internet business."_

 _Lucas: "What kind of business?"_

 _Brooke: "Clothing line. Mom's gift is starting capital."_

 _Lucas: "How much?"_

 _Brooke: "A hundred grand."_

 _Lucas: "That might do it."_

 _Brooke: "Can you help?"_

 _Lucas: "Of course."_

 _Brooke: "Thnx."_

Later that day I receive a message. I've been enrolled on an e-course from the Columbia Business School on setting up an e-commerce business. There are classes, a reading list, and even an e-chat line for questions. So nice to have him on my corner.

At night, I go to a beach party with Rachel and some other friends. It's a bit sad, as everyone is gearing up to leave for whatever comes next. Rachel and Mountain have become inseparable lately, and I worry about the adoring looks he gives her. I drink a couple of shots, and find a nice looking boy to make out with. A little later, the boy is getting frisky, and I find myself debating whether I take him back home or not. I could use a little pick-me-up between my legs, and my companion appears to know what he is doing. At that point, and much to my own annoyance, I find myself completely turned off, and decide to head home by myself.

I watch a couple of lectures from my e-course, and then get completely wrapped-up on a text about business plans. A couple of hours later, Mountain and Rachel walk in, Rachel a little drunk.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"What does it look like, slut?"

Mountain walks around my desk and peeks at my work. "Business plans, Brookie? Friday night at one in the morning?"

"We came by cause someone said you went home alone. I just wanted to check this. Not only you dropped that cute boy on the beach, you came home to study. Who are you, and what did you do with my friend?"

"I just wasn't in the mood for a meaningless fuck."

She scoffs. "And why not?"

That shuts me up. Why the hell not? Is it the remaining anger with my mother's little visit? Melancholy about leaving behind everything I've ever known? Frustration that the guy I really want is three thousand miles away, probably fucking somebody else? I shake my head. "I really don't know. I'll make you a promise. I'm getting laid before we get into that U-Haul truck, all right?"

"That's the spirit!"

I get up, stand if front of Mountain and capture his eyes. "You know she's gonna break your heart."

He gives a brief glance at Rachel. His eyes are both amused and a little sad. "I know Brookie. I just think this little time with her is worth the pain."

I stand on tippy toes and give him a little kiss on the lips. "You're a good one, sweetie. You're gonna make some girl very happy one day. Don't forget that."

"I won't. Thanks, Brookie. You're a good one too."

Rachel is frowning at me. "I ask again, what did you do with my friend?"

"Oh, grow up!"

"Come, we're out of here."

"Have fun, guys." At least Mountain knows what he is getting into. I suddenly realize what's up with me. Back of my head, I know I need to grow up fast, if I'm going to be with him. So, in my own way, that's what I'm doing. Acting grown up. I laugh. I might be overdoing it a bit. I guess it's time for something crazy. I hunt for a phone number and call.

"Brooke?"

"Hi, Chris. "

"What can I do for you, girl?"

"You know that old offer of yours? I'd like to take you up on it."

"Just a second." There's some shuffling and a muffled conversation in the background. "Next Friday?"

"Perfect. Your place?"

"Of course. Eight o'clock."

"Should I bring anything?"

"Just your own sweet self."

I might be a bit over my head in this one, but that's exactly what something crazy means.

Next morning I finish packing my stuff. In the spirit of growing up, there's one little thing I've been putting off.

The house is a spanish-style mansion, with an L-shaped front surrounding a fountain. Julian's father is a bigwig Hollywood producer, and his mother a minor starlet turned aging trophy ex-wife. I knock on the door and a serious-looking latina woman answers.

"Is Julian home?"

"I believe he is in his room madam. Are you expected?"

"No." I saunter towards his room. "He won't mind the surprise. I promise."

I can hear music, some kind of rap, coming out of his room, and I knock. After ten seconds without a response I knock louder. "Julian?"

I hear his voice screaming from the other side. "Go away!"

"Julian, It's Brooke! I'm coming in."

I open the door and he's standing in the middle of the room, in his boxers, glaring at me. "What do you want, Brooke?"

"Just talk to you a bit. Why don't you get dressed and meet me downstairs, by the pool?"

"Fine. I'll be right down."

I sit in a lounge chair by the pool, waiting. Soon, Julian comes down and sits beside me.

"What are you doing here, Brooke? I thought we were done talking."

"I'm sorry, Julian."

He gets up and looks at me. "You're what?"

I smile. "I'm sorry. I've learned something recently that made me realize I wasn't fair with you."

He frowns. "I don't understand."

"I knew, when we were together, that you were much more into me, into us, than I was into you. I was just playing, having fun, enjoying the attention. I wasn't thinking about you. This was selfish and wrong, and my only excuse is that I didn't really know better. You're a good guy, Julian, and you didn't deserve what I did to you. I'm sorry."

He nods. "What happened? What brought this change?"

"I'm falling for someone, hard. He's been really careful to take things slowly. At some point I realized why, and how that reflected into what happened with us."

"I see." He paces back and forth, muttering to himself. "Look. I don't know how I feel about your apology. Mostly it confuses the hell out of me. But I do appreciate your offering it. Whoever this guy is, he is bringing out another side of Brooke Davis. A good side." He sits. "I wish you luck."

"Thanks."

He smiles weakly as he speaks. "Now get out of here."

"Good luck at USC."

"Bye,"

 _Brooke: "One week to go."_

 _Lucas: "Counting the minutes."_

 _Brooke: "Me 2."_

She knocks on the door at the right time. She is wearing a green sun dress, sexy black underwear and flip flops. In her bag, she has a change of clothes, just in case. One of the twins opens the door. "Chris?"

"Nah, Josh." He smiles. "Come on in." They are identical twins, five ten, black hair and green eyes, solid built and gym buffed. They are about twenty, and I've known them most of my life. Their family has money, but after they graduated high school they decided to become professional beach bums, and the family cut them off. Since then, they've been a hot item among the bored and restless women up and down the coast. I hear the going rate is five grand a night, and there's a lot of repeat customers. They've been after me since I grew boobs, The idea never really appealed, although I can't deny a bit of curiosity, which I guess I'm about to satisfy.

Josh sits next to his brother. They are both wearing old jeans shorts and identical smiles.

"You nervous, sweetie?"

"A bit."

"Why don't you sit here between us? " I drop my bag at a corner and sit between them. They speak in whispers. "You're used to being in control."

"Yes."

"Today, you must surrender. Let us be in control. Can you do that?" They caress my thighs over the dress, and kiss me in the neck and cheek. Their hands feel soft and their breath hot. Yes, I want this. "I can surrender. I trust you two."

"Very well. Just relax."

They guide my movements with gentle hands. One of them kisses me deeply and the other finds a spot in my neck and sucks. We get up and they remove my dress and underwear, leaving me naked between them. Two pairs of hands roam my body, caressing my breasts, my buttocks, everywhere at once. I feel enveloped by a large four-handed, two tongued lover with a faint smell of leather and aftershave.

"Do you like it in the ass?"

"Yes."

"We are going to fuck you together. But first we are going to play with you a bit."

I'm beginning to melt under their attention. "All right. Play with me."

They tie my wrists together and stretch my arms over my head, tying them to a hook in the ceiling. They use a lever, and adjust the height until I'm on the balls of my feet. They sit down on the couch and look at me, like a pair of lazy cats. They are in charge, so I wait, wondering were we're going next.

They wait a minute, maybe two. "Don't worry. We have you exactly where we have wanted for a while, so we're going to enjoy it a bit." I wait, feeling the strain on my shoulders and the heat as those four eyes enjoy the sight they've created. "You look very sexy like this." They get up and circle around me, still without touching. They begin kissing me, caressing my body, exploring me with their fingers and tongues. Ears, neck, mouth and breasts, buttocks and belly button. Legs and feet. I moan, enjoying their attention. They begin to explore my folds, and things go to a different level. "Ah, you enjoy this, don't you?" My reply is inarticulated moans. One of them goes down on me, sliding his tongue across my folds and using his fingers inside me, while the other keeps his attentions on my neck and breasts. When I'm beginning to feel myself coming, they stop. I make some frustrated noises, and they sit back at their couch and stare at me.

They wait a few minutes, while my frustration grows. When I'm about to complain, they are back at me, sucking and fingering, caressing and exploring. I tingle under their attentions. A greased finger, maybe two, go into my back hole, finding a sweet place to caress. A tongue is again at my folds, and pretty soon, I'm getting there again. And again they stop and sit before I can quite get there. This time I complain. "No! Please!"

They laugh, softly. "Little Brookie is impatient."

"But we are not."

They wait a few minutes and go at it again, bringing me to the brink of orgasm and stopping. By now I'm so strung out and bothered I cry a bit. "Please!"

After a couple of minutes, one of them brings out a large vibrator and shows it to me, while the other whispers in my ear. "Little Brooke want to come?"

"Yes, please."

"Then beg."

"Oh, please, please. Let me come."

"Beg more."

I begin crying in frustration. "Please, please. Make me come."

They squeeze the vibrator between my legs. In a few seconds I have the strongest orgasm of my life. I probably spend a whole minute buckling and screaming, as wave after wave of pleasure washes over me.

They untie me and carry me to a big bed in the next room. I kneel in the bed, as one of them massages my upper arms and shoulder with some kind of oil and the other kisses me and plays with my breasts. Their jeans shorts are gone, and there are two nicely sized erections in view. I take one of them in my mouth, while I pump the other with my hands, and alternate. Now they are moaning. "Out little Brooke is quite an artist." I try to get them off like that, but they had other plans. One of them slides inside me from behind, while I keep working the other with my mouth. Now we're all moaning. They switch places a couple of times. Finally one of them lies in bed, facing up, and I straddle him, taking him deep inside myself. He pulls me towards him, as the other positions himself and whispers. "Relax, Brooke." I relax as he slides into my other hole. They are both inside me, and I feel full to the point of bursting. Then we begin moving together. It's a little awkward, but once we get going, it feels incredible. They go in and out together, and very soon I coming again. Not nearly as intense as the first one, but still pretty nice. The one in my behind comes right there, and I finish the other one with my mouth.

We lie together in bed for a little bit. "Do you want to eat, Brookie? We made you dinner."

"Actually, I'm starving."

They bring out a shrimp mac-and-cheese and a salad, with a crisp white wine. It's really very good, and so are strawberries with cream we have for dessert. The conversation is lighthearted and pleasant, punctuated with long comfortable silences. After dinner they clean up and we sit down for a bit, sipping the rest of the wine.

"We are going for a shower."

"Care to join us?"

I smile at them. "Sure."

At the shower, we begin kissing and playing, and soon we are at it again. This time they take me standing up, holding me in the air with both of them inside me. It's even more awkward, but they make it work, moving me up and down like a toy with their strong hands. This time they come first, and then they finish me with their fingers and tongues.

My car is in storage already, so they drive me back home. They see the U-Haul truck parked in front.

"So, you're leaving, Brookie?"

"Tomorrow morning. Going to New York." They exchange a glance and smile.

"We hope you enjoyed your goodbye party."

"Oh, I did. Thank you, boys."

"It was our pleasure. We're going to miss you Brookie. This place is not going to be the same without you."

"I'm going to miss you two also."

"Come back to us, sweetie, anytime."

"Thanks. Maybe I will." I look at them as they drive away. A tear goes slowly down my cheek. I feel the strain on my shoulders, and the slight burning sensation on my wrists. It was good, even better than good, but it's not for me. I look around and I feel the faint smell of the oleander bushes and the salt tang of the sea nearby. For the first time, I know I'm done with this place. My heart is pulling me east, and tomorrow morning, I'll finally be following it.


	8. Chapter 8

AN: Sorry for how long I've been taking in updating. If you follow my fics, you know my muse has been a little scatterbrained lately... It's still going to be a little while before my Brucas gets together. Despite the fact they are both quite captivated, they still barely know each other. One little issue – Brooke definitely didn't pay the twins for their "attentions". I really like how this fic is coming along. My idea is to imagine how Lucas and Brooke from the canon would develop if they hadn't met each other in high school. So, I see Brooke learning by herself to deal with her self-destructive tendencies and letting her heart show, so she becomes a caring, beloved girl with a deep, unfulfilled need to be seen and appreciated. And Lucas becomes this focused, hardworking, serious, ultimately lonely individual who yearns for a true connection and only learned to be himself and let go in a very odd way, which hasn't really been explored in the fic yet. They see on the other something each one desperately needs. Add to that the natural Brucas mutual physical attraction, and the serious complication that their difference in age and maturity represents, and you have the story. I thank the reviewers for their comments and all readers for their patience and appreciation. As usual, I don't own anything related to OTH, Gray's or House.

Chapter 8

 **Lucas**

The latest surgery on Mr. Contrera's pelvis reconstruction is a fourteen hour tour-de-force. Callie and I manage to get the whole mesh in place, and turn his scrambled middle into something solid, which eventually will be able to support motion and hold up his upper body.

I can barely see through the haze of fatigue. Even Callie, with her seemingly inexhaustible supply of energy seems a bit drained. "That was one hell of a job, Boss. One for the books."

She looks at me and smiles. "A good job it was. We make one hell of a team, Lucas."

This is one accolade that really makes my day. Over the past month, my respect for this woman has only grown. "Thanks."

We walk out of the surgical center together, and we are both surprised to find Penny and Allie in their civvies, waiting for us. Allie just gives me her bright-eyed subtle smile, and Penny explains. "We thought you guys might need a drink and a little help getting to bed after this."

Callie and I exchange a glance, and Callie replies. "Sure thing, love. Let's go."

I stay back a second, to give the third-year resident instructions about post-op care. Callie was the surgeon in charge, but post-op will be my responsibility, and I'm the one on-call in case something unexpected happens.

I join them, and give Penny a kiss in the cheek. "You're looking ravishing tonight, Dr. Blake." I do it because I love seeing her blush.

Allie giggles, and Callie gives me a mock glare. "You're trying to seduce my girl, Dr. Scott?"

"I know I'm not her type, but a fellow can always dream..."

She slaps me in the chest. "Oh, stop it, Lucas!"

I grab Allie by the waist and plant a quick kiss in her lips. "All right. At least one of the girls in my life is not a dyke."

Callie gives me an amused look. "Talk about not a dyke, I hear your teenagers are coming back tomorrow."

I can't repress my smile. "That's right."

Penny looks at Allie and frowns at me. "Down, boy!"

Allie adds. "He's actually toning it down a bit. He's been like a little boy going to a toy store."

Callie looks a me. "You're that far gone?" I nod. "A bit of unsolicited advice. You might want to end this." She waves at Allie and me. "Even if you're not going to start something with your teenager right now. You would probably do better without the noise."

I exchange a glance with Allie. "Noted. Thanks."

"And I want to meet this girl as soon as possible. There's a vetting process among friends, you know?"

Allie gives Callie an evil smile. "Oh, you're gonna like her just fine."

"That hot?"

"You have no idea."

We head to Allie's apartment, basically because I'm not really up to facing the stairs. Once we get there, we take a long hot soak. A fairly platonic one, since I'm a little too tired and wired to do her justice. Afterwards, I just want to curl up in bed with her warm body for company, but she has other plans.

"I have a new toy I want to try. You don't have to lift a finger. I promise."

"Sounds good. What is it?"

She fishes a brown paper bag from her backpack and opens it. It's a fairly large anal plug, made of slick white plastic. I raise an eyebrow. Not exactly new territory.

"It's got a powerful vibrator, big boy. And it's remote controlled."

"Ah. Do you want help placing it?"

"Sure."

I half-sit on her bed as she kneels on top of me, bending over and taking me in her mouth. "Hey, it's hard to concentrate with you doing that."

"Focus. You're a surgeon, after all."

"I doubt I could be very effective while being blown like this."

"They should include this in the practical boards." We both laugh.

I use plenty of lubricant and begin with a single finger, doing a massage on the appropriate nerve bundle. Then I do it with two fingers, which begin to get a reaction from her. I apply more lubrication and start a slow insertion of the plug. "Relax the sphincter now." It slide it in easily.

"Hm." She wiggles her shapely behind in my face. "Feels full."

"Looks damn good on you. Wish I could take you for a walk wearing that."

"That's certainly one of the possibilities."

"You're pretty sensitive in the pudendum nerve bundle. This thing is going to drive you crazy."

"That's the idea." She gives me the remote. I turn the plug on, in its lowest setting. A distant muffled buzz shows that the thing is actually working.

"Good... all right. Sit back and relax." She turns around and impales herself on me. I can feel the faint vibration.

"So?"

"Tight. And the shape is a little different. Still your lovely pussy, though." She moves up and down a bit and stops.

"All right. Crank it up."

I take it up to seven out of ten. She screams. "Holy cow! This is so good!" For me, she turns into a moist, tight, intensely vibrating chamber. It feels crazy good, not as intense as it does to her.

"Can you get off with me just sitting here?"

"Oh, yes. It will take a while, though."

She stays there, moaning to herself, coming once, and then again. I'm nearly there myself when she asks. "Now. Crank it to the max."

She screams, coming for a third time, just as I do it. After that I turn off the vibrator. She slumps next to me and takes the plug off. "Wow. That was intense. You should try it sometime."

I smile. "Yeah. I guess I will."

A little later I pick up the plug and take it to the bathroom to wash. I come back holding it cleaned and disinfected.

She notes I'm interested in the thing. "Wanna try it?"

"Not tonight. I was just thinking that this is not exactly the right shape. I would make it with an anatomic curve, following the shape of the rectum, and make it deliver simultaneous short pulsation and vibration at the nerve bundle. It would make it slower and more intense for you, and more intense for me as well."

She laughs. "You want to design and built a prototype? Apply for a patent?"

I shrug. "Why not?" It's a sort of borderline medical device, isn't it? The orthopedics lab has a 3D printer that I could use to make the plastic body and plenty of small electric motors."

"Just promise me one thing."

"What?"

"I want to be present when you present the proposal to the research and innovation committee."

"I'd put your name in the patent application. Maybe you could help me with testing the prototype."

"Your idea, your patent. and, from the way you described it, I would gladly pay to help test it."

"So much for the Cameron-Scott plug."

Her eyes flash in amusement. "All right. I'll help you develop it. But we do it outside the hospital."

"Why?"

"They would never go for it. Alienating the donors..."

We lay there in each other's arms, staring at the ceiling. I break the silence. "So."

"The elephant in the room."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. We both know Callie is right. You'll do better without the noise."

"It's been fun."

She gets on top and kisses me. "It's been better than fun. And I'm going to miss it."

"So am I. Friends?"

"Of course. I'm here for you, big boy. Anything."

"Same."

 **Brooke**

 _Lucas kisses my breasts and I feel his fingers playing with me as I open my legs wide and he finds his position, his strong body heavy and slick against mine. I feel my hips reach out to him as he slowly enters me and the alarm..._

"Damn!". I sit in the bed, fully awake and I look at Rachel. She's rolled up in the bedcovers, looking glum.

"I hate waking up early too."

"It's not that. I was enjoying my dream."

She smiles sleepily. "Let's get going then, whore. You'll be able to get your hands on the real thing soon enough."

We spent the night at a Holiday Inn in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, and we still have a three-hour drive ahead. We shower, pack our stuff and head to the breakfast area. There's a couple of families with small children, some business travelers and a bunch of college kids around.

As usual, Rachel and I attract our share of male attention. I let it slide around me, distant and polite. Rachel, on the other hand, is not her usual flirty self. I serve myself of a small orange juice, a large coffee and a toasted bagel with cream cheese. I notice Rachel is turning down a cute brunette boy with a letter jacket. She is pretty rough.

"Hey, slut. Did something crawl up your ass and died? What's up?"

She scowls at me. Not a first, but pretty unusual too. "Mind your own business, whore. I'm not in the mood."

I frown at her, while she looks firmly down, glaring at her bowl of granola. She's been acting this way the whole trip, and I'm getting a little tired of it. It's getting worse, and I want my lighthearted friend back. Suddenly a switch flips in my head, and I realize what's going on. "It's Mountain, isn't it? You actually fell for him."

She tightens even further around herself. "Go fuck yourself, Brooke."

I start laughing. "The cast iron bitch is moping over a boy! That's a first."

She looks at me, and there's real pain in her eyes. The laughter dies in my lips. "Yes, I really miss him."

"Did you talk to him? Told him how you felt?"

"Of course not! What would be the point? So that he would drop his scholarship and follow me to New York? Or better yet, I drop my modeling contract and follow him to South Dakota? He came to me to say goodbye. We cried. We fucked. He said he loved me. I told him I didn't love him, but that I liked him a lot and I wished him to be happy. I let him down easy, Brooke. I swear. But that's not all."

"What is it, then?"

"I'm a week late, Brooke." She breaks down in tears, with the whole room watching. I go around the table and wrap my arms around her thin frame.

"Shh, sweetie. It will be all right." She sobs for a bit and then gathers herself back. She may be hurting, but she is still pretty tough. She looks at me, her eyebrows raised.

"Sweetie?"

I shrug and give her a small smile. "Sorry?"

We decide to get home first before dealing with this. Home is Lucas, and he can help. I drive the last leg, and when we stop at the toll line I drop him a text.

" _At Lincoln Tunnel. xx_ "

His reply is immediate.

" _Can't wait. xx_ "

Traffic into the city is not bad, and it takes us another twenty minutes to cross the tunnel and get home. I spot him standing and smiling from half a block away. He used cones to reserve a double spot in front of the building for the truck, which he removes as we approach. I back the truck into the spot, with him helping guide me.

The moment I push the parking break, I jump off the truck, and straight into his arms. In two seconds I find his lips with mine and the whole world disappears. It's just him, strong arms around me, his flat chest crushing my breasts, my arms around him, him smelling of sweat and aftershave, his lips tasting of coffee, soft and demanding. His tongue in my mouth, caressing mine as we deepen the kiss. My whole body in on fire against his. We separate, looking at each other with naked hunger.

I whisper in his ear. "So, this is how a kiss is supposed to feel like."

He laughs and shrugs. "If you set the bar sky high." He turns to Rachel, which is standing on the sidewalk. "Hey, Red. What's with the face?" He engulfs her in a tight hug, and I see her relax a bit.

He stands a little back, and he sees that her eyes are moist. "What's wrong?" He turns to me. "What's wrong, pretty girl?"

"We need to talk."

"All right, just a second." He introduces us to a short, strong looking middle-aged man. "This is Frank Stiglitz. He runs one of the maintenance crews at the hospital. Frank, these are my friends, Brooke Davis and Rachel Gattina."

He shakes our hands, while laughing. His voice is gruff and warm. "Friends, hm? Do you kiss all your friends like that?"

Lucas smiles, grabbing me by the waist. "Only the special ones."

I look at him and pout. "So, I'm a _special friend_ now."

He smiles. "Look, I offered Frank and his crew five hundred, plus six tickets to the Knicks first home game to help with your stuff. They borrowed a portable crane from the hospital and installed it on the roof, so they can just lift things up, straight into your window. Just give him your key, and let's take care of whatever is bothering Rachel."

"All right." I open my wallet and count five hundreds. I hand him the money, and the keys to the apartment and the truck. "Can you also return the truck when you're done? . The contract is in the glove compartment, and the address is written there." He nods. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. And welcome to New York."

"Thanks, again."

Lucas turns to me. "So, should we go up and talk?

"I need to stop at a drugstore first."

Instantly, Lucas relaxed demeanor disappears, and the laser-sharp doctor comes forward. "Why?"

"We need a pregnancy test."

He looks carefully at Rachel. "Ah." He looks thoughtful. "We do this right." He turns to Rachel. "A quick trip to the hospital."

We get into his car and he drives us the ten blocks to the hospital. He gets us visitor badges at the reception and we walk to the ER. It's pretty quiet there, and I keep searching for Allie. "She's not around. She's off duty right now, probably asleep."

He sits us in a procedure bay and closes the curtain. He draws blood and calls some assistant. "Pregnancy and basic blood. Stat."

"Yes, doctor Scott."

He gives Rachel a thorough physical, and asks questions. Medical history, previous pregnancies, medications, alcohol and drug use, sexual history. He's very gentle, both with his hands and his voice.

One answer surprises the hell out of me. Aside from the airplane quickie and the basketball player, Mountain has been her only partner for over three months. When asked if she takes the pill everyday at the same time, she says she got confused with the time change going back and forth from New York. She also adds that she and Mountain neglected to use condoms a couple of times.

The results from the blood test come to his phone. He stares at the little screen and looks at Rachel. "You're definitely pregnant. Otherwise your blood work is fine."

Rachel starts crying. "Oh, no... this can't be happening." I embrace her.

"It's going to be fine... you'll see. We're here for you."

Lucas helps her stand and hands her a hospital gown. "Please put this on. We're going to take a quick look." He leaves the bay and closes the curtain behind him. He comes back a few minutes later with an efficient-looking redhead in tow. "This is Dr. Ash, Ob-Gyn. She's going to do an intravaginal sonogram, so we can check how far along you are, and if everything is ok."

They walk us to an exam room, with a gynecological exam chair. Lucas stands next to Rachel, holding her hand, while Dr. Ash does a pelvical exam and brings in the machine. She does her thing, producing a bunch of fuzzy images that Lucas looks at, nodding sagely. Afterwards, Dr. Ash hands Rachel a picture, with a little blob marked, and talks to her.

"You are eight to ten weeks along, and everything seems to be fine. I'll prescribe some prenatal vitamins and go over your options. Is the father in the picture?"

"No. And there's no need for further conversation. I'm terminating."

Lucas and Dr. Ash exchange a glance. "Very well. Dr. Scott is your primary and he will handle details with you. Good luck." She walks out, closing the door behind her. I totally get why she is terminating. Her contract with the modeling agency is a dream come true for her. And, if she carries the baby, they will certainly rescind it. But, it's Rachel and Mountain's baby... I would give anything to hold it, to play with it, to see it grow up. I cry, and it is a huge surprise when I look up and see tears in Lucas eyes too. We stand around for a few minutes in a three-way hug, until Lucas breaks it.

"Let's go home. You should get dressed, while I go take care of a little paperwork."

We drive back in silence, and when we get there, Frank and his crew are getting out of the building with the crane.

"Hey guys, that was fast! Thank you."

"The crane made it easy. We assembled your beds, and more-or-less arranged the furniture, but the boxes are just piled in the living room. Goodbye, and good luck."

"You too. Bye."

We look around our apartment, with the boxes and the furniture. There's a lot of work ahead. I'm pretty sure I'm going to love living here, working and studying in this crazy city, and taking this thing with Lucas wherever it's supposed to go. Lucas sits in my bed and taps a spot next to him, for Rachel to sit besides him.

"Rachel, look. I'll arrange a good person to do the termination at the hospital, all right? It's safe and painless. Brooke and I will be there to hold your hand, if you want. But I think you need at least a week to let this settle. Is that ok?" She nods. "And if you want to talk, or maybe just a hug, I'm here."

She turns to him. "Would you do it? Please?"

He looks at her for a second. "I don't think so, sweetie. I'll arrange it, I'll hold your hand while it's happening, and I'll lend you my shoulder, before and after. But I won't do it. I'm sorry."

She looks at the floor and speaks in a small voice. "All right."

"Let's go upstairs. You can see what my place looks like, and I'll fix you lunch."

There's already a lot of furniture at his place. A couple of leather couch sets, some bookcases, a pool table with red felt at one end of the living room, a large dining table for eight. For all that, it's clearly a work in progress, and something some decorator is working with him. I like it, but it's getting a little too stark.

"Lucas, would you give me a little free hand with your decorator? Some small adjustments. Promise you'll like it."

"You mean to enliven the place a bit?"

"Yes, exactly."

"I'd be forever thankful."

He heats up some meat lasagna, which we eat with a salad, sparkling water and ice cream for dessert. After lunch Rachel gets really sleepy, so Lucas lets her nap in one of the guest bedrooms, while we go upstairs to the roof, enjoy the view, the sun, and talk.

"Let me ask you one thing. Why did you refuse to perform Rachel's termination? Are you qualified?"

"Yes I am. It's a general surgery procedure. I trained in it, and I am qualified to do it."

"Are you against abortions as a general principle?"

"I don't like them, but I do support the right to choose. I've done terminations, and I'll probably do them again."

"Then why?"

He passes his hand on his head and looks sad. "It's Rachel's baby, Brooke. It's someone I'd love to meet, play with, watch grow. I wouldn't do it because it would break my heart, that's all."

This is when I know. It's not just that amazing kiss. It's not just that I'm dying to have him inside me. It's not the easy friendship, or the amazing support, how safe I feel around him or how much I've missed him. It's not how much fun we have together. Sure, it's all that too. But it's more. I'm in love with this guy. Head over heels, batshit crazy, howl to the moon in love, for the first time in my life. God, I just hope he feels the same way about me.


	9. Chapter 9

AN: Please excuse me for the long delay. For some reason, this chapter was hard to write, and, even now, I'm not terribly happy with it. Let me know your thoughts, and thank you for the reviews. As usual, I own nothing related to OTH or House.

Chapter 9

 **Lucas**

When I arrive in the procedure room, Brooke and Rachel are already there, and Rachel is in position, legs on the stirrups, waiting for Dr. Ash. I look at Brooke, and she looks down. Since we talked at the roof of my apartment, and I explained why I wouldn't perform Rachel's termination, she's been avoiding me like the plague. I went over that conversation a hundred times, trying to understand what I did wrong, without success. Now, I'm just giving her space.

I approach the chair, and get a hold of one of Rachel's hands. Clammy and cold. She's putting on a brave, determined face. But I can see a bit behind the front, and it breaks my heart. "Hey, Red. You ready?"

"Yup. Let's get this over, please."

"You're sure, sweetie?"

"Yes."

"Very well. This procedure is done with local anesthetic. Also, the nurse is giving you a sedative, which will make you relaxed and drowsy."

The procedure itself takes just twenty minutes, and afterwards, an orderly takes Rachel to the recovery room, where she will nap for an hour or two, before she can go home. I accompany Brooke to a waiting area, and, for the first time since last week, we're facing each other.

"Brooke..."

"No, Lucas. Don't say anything."

"Allie and I ended things, right before you came back."

"What? Why?"

"Why do you think?"

"You gave up your fuckbuddy because of me?" She sounds annoyed.

"It's not like that. First, Allison and I were more about friendship than sex."

Brooke smirks. "Not that you were complaining about the sex."

"I certainly wasn't. Second, I had no intention of creating, or implying, any expectations."

"Then why did you two break up?"

"Callie suggested it. Allison and I agreed. She said that if I wanted to focus on where we, I mean, you and I, were going, it would be best to avoid this specific complication."

Brooke nods in agreement. "You should have told me."

"This is the first opportunity I've had."

She looks at me silently for a bit. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. If you need space and time, take it. The last thing I want is to pressure you in any way. I just wish you'd tell me what I did wrong."

I stand transfixed there, in the middle of a hospital waiting room, while she suddenly bursts into tears. And runs into a restroom.

I wait for about half an hour. She doesn't come out, so I grab a passing nurse and ask her to stand at the door for a few minutes and not let anyone in, while take care of a runaway patient.

She's locked in on one of the stalls. "Brooke?"

Her voice is still a little broken. "Go away. You're not allowed in here."

"I'm a doctor, and this is a hospital. I'm allowed everywhere." I give it a minute. "Please, let me help."

"You can't."

"Rachel will be out of recovery soon. We need to take her home."

"Would you do it?"

"Brooke..."

"Please, Lucas. I can't. I'll come to you, I promise."

"All right, Pretty Girl. I'll wait. You know where to find me. But you need to get out of there."

"I will."

I get out of the restroom, and about five minutes later Brooke comes out and leaves, looking straight to the ground. I bring Rachel to my home, including a five-story bridal carry. I find out how heavy a size zero fashion model can be, after the second floor. I give her a mild sedative and let her sleep in one of the spare bedrooms.

I spend an hour exercising, shower and fix myself dinner. Grilled chicken, tossed salad, strawberries with vanilla ice cream and a glass of Chardonnay.

After dinner I check on my guest. She's still fast asleep. I try to write a bit, but I can't focus. I'm clearly out of depth with the Brooke situation. So, I do what I've been doing most of my life in this situation. I appeal to a higher form of conciousness.

"Nathan?"

"Oh, hi big brother. What's up?"

"I need to pick your wife's brain."

Nathan laughs. "Girl trouble?"

"Oh, yes."

He shouts "Haley! Lucas."

Her voice sounds like she was laughing. "Hey, Luke."

"Hales. Nephew and niece?"

"Jamie is at your mother's. A study date with Lily and a couple of their friends. Lydia was being a goof here."

Breathless girl voice on the other side. "Hi Uncle Lucas! I miss you!"

"Miss you too, pumpkin." Eleven-year-old Lydia is a near copy of her mother, and a favorite of mine.

"What's up, doc?"

"Well, Bugs... I'm a little over my head here. Need some advice."

"Talk to me."

"You know about Brooke."

"Your eighteen-year-old. I heard."

"We met about a month ago, went on a couple of dates, and spent a couple of days together. Let me just say we made a strong impression in each other, despite the age difference. She went back to California, and we spent three weeks communicating by text."

"How many texts?"

"About a dozen a day. She was never far from my thoughts, and I suspect the same is true for her. She got back to New York about a week ago. She and her friend Rachel are moving to an apartment below mine. We greeted each other with an amazing kiss in the middle of the street, our first and only. We went through something complicated, that ended with a conversation at my place. I can't share details. We parted in what I thought were good terms, but she's been avoiding me for a week. We met again today, I told her I had ended a "friends with benefits" arrangement I had right before she arrived. She questioned why I hadn't told her, and I called attention that today was the first opportunity I had to tell her. She apologized, and I told her she had nothing to apologize for, and that I just wanted to know what I had done wrong. Then she burst into tears and hid in a girl's bathroom. I went in after a while and she told me she couldn't deal with me, that I couldn't help her and she promised she would come to me later. And that's all, folks."

"You're being vague on the circumstances."

"Confidentiality. Not hers."

"Ah." Haley hums a bit to herself. A sign the little wheels in her mind are spinning like mad. "Did she seem mad or angry, today?"

"No. More sad and scared. The sadness part was warranted by the undisclosed circumstances."

"I see. I don't know your girl, but think I can offer a guess."

"What? Anything, please."

"I think she's scared. Maybe terrified."

"Of what?"

"Of falling for you. Let me remind you of something. Junior year, Dan's beach house. You're about to have sex with the girl you've been crushing on forever. You open yourself, pour your heart out. What happens?"

"She freaks out, runs away." It's like a light is turned on in a dark room. "Damn!"

"Let me add one little thing. You were just a sixteen-year-old boy, then. Still, you were pretty intense, and you scared her. Now, you're a grown man, accomplished, a hundred times more intimidating. Add to the fear of falling for you the fear that she is just not enough, that you'll get bored."

"How do I handle this?" I'm probably asking myself, not Haley.

She snorts. "Find a playmate closer to your own age."

"Not an option. I'm not letting this one go. Not without a fight."

She laughs "Oh, boy! You've got it bad. I gotta meet this girl."

"I think you'll like her."

"I'm a high school teacher and a mom. I like teenagers."

"I hate you, Hales."

"You'll need patience. Let her come to you. Make no sudden moves."

I laugh a bit. "She's a girl, not a mountain lion. Still, patience is always sound advice."

"Unless you're trying to escape from a mountain lion."

I laugh some more. "All right, Hales, thanks. This really helped."

"You're welcome. Always here for you, as you know."

"Likewise. See ya."

"Bye."

 **Brooke**

What the hell is wrong with me? I know I'm hurting him. I keep looking for a safe place, some kind of balance, but every time I think of him, my balance, my sense of safety goes out the window. I'm afraid. Afraid of what will happen to me if he leaves, or gives up. I'm afraid of losing myself on him. I'm afraid I'm not enough, that he will find someone smarter, or more put together, or less damaged. I hate him for my fear and for how much I need him.

My best friend, hell, my only friend not only out of commission but, even at her best, useless. Rachel would just tell me to grow a pair, and get naked in his bed. The thing is, I have a pair of big brass ones. But I'm so outside my comfort zone it's not even funny. And I have the feeling that if I got naked in his bed, he would scold me, kiss me in the forehead and send me to my room. I need a fucking mother, or a big sister. Hell, even an older cousin would do. I have none of these things. I mean, I do have a mother of sorts, but I'd be better off talking to a rottweiler.

Of course, having run out of smart things to do, I do something totally stupid. I look for the ER. I approach the charge nurse and ask for Dr. Cameron, identifying myself as a friend. She looks me up and down and shrugs, pointing to the attending's lounge.

I knock, and hearing no reply, I walk in. Allie is lying down on a sofa, eyes closed. I stand next to the door, uncertain how to proceed. She opens her eyes "What is it... Brooke?" She sits up in a sudden motion.

I walk in and close the door. I give her an embarrassed smile. "Hi."

"What are you doing here, girl? Anything wrong?"

Suddenly I realize an ER is not usually a place you go if nothing physical is wrong. "No, no. Oh god, sorry. There's nothing wrong."

"Then what are you doing here?"

"I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing. What are you doing here?"

I feel tears coming. I speak in a small voice. "I need to talk."

"With me?"

I shrug. "There's nobody else."

"What about Lucas? Or Rachel?"

"Rachel is in good hands. I need to talk about myself. Maybe Lucas too, a little."

"I don't think I'm the right person, sweetie."

I stand, arms rigid against my side, ten feet from where she's sitting. "I'm an eighteen-year-old college freshman. I'm a slut, who's slept with a hundred guys. I like to party, to dance, and I like fashion. I'm vain and superficial. I'm a neglected child with serious abandonment issues. I have no family and very few friends. I don't like to read, I don't like depressing music and movies with subtitles. And I make no apology for any of that. I'm exactly who I want to be. And I'm head-over-heels in love for the first time. I know he likes me. But how long is it going to take for him to find out exactly what I am and turn his back, bored or disappointed? I'm scared. No. I'm terrified, paralized." I end the idiotic speech looking at the ground, mortally embarrassed and in tears.

She giggles. I lift my eyes, feeling something between surprised and annoyed. "Oh, Brooke. I'm sorry!"

"What? Anything funny in what I said?"

She looks a little embarrassed. "No, of course not. It's me, not what you said. I'm not the right person. You should say it to Lucas."

"I don't think I could do that." Maybe after half a dozen shots of tequila...

She shrugs. "I get that.. But remember, he can be trusted. Not many men can."

Is trust the issue? I do trust him. Probably more than anyone I've ever known. It's pure instinct, but I rely on my instincts much more than on my cheerleader brainpower. I don't really know him enough, and I'm not sure even Allie does. I just left him taking care of my only real family, recovering after a deeply traumatic experience. I trust him with Rachel, more than I trust myself. Do I trust him with me? The answer may be irrational, but it is completely obvious. I trust him a lot more than I trust myself.

She waits, as the silence stretches. "I'm not going to be talking about Lucas to you. You need to get to know him and make up your own mind."

Right. "That can't be the reason you laughed."

She smiles. "True. I also caught a glimpse of some of what he sees in you." I just look at her. "You know who you are, warts and all, and you are comfortable with it .That's unusual in women three times your age."

"Thanks, I guess." It's a flattering picture, if a little unexpected. "I'll take your word for it."

"But the reason I laughed is the similarity between your situation and my own."

"Your situation?"

"It's a long story, that I wouldn't mind sharing. Want to go for dinner after my shift?" She looks at the wall clock. "I'll be done in forty minutes."

It's a hard question. I need to get back to Rachel's side, but I'm not ready to face Lucas. Do I really want Allie as a friend? She is looking at me patiently, a small inscrutable smile in her face, waiting for a reply. My gut tells me to trust her, that she is one of the good guys. "All right."

Allie leads me to a small Italian joint on Second. She orders some antipasto and a bottle of Chianti. The artichokes the hard crust bread calm my stomach, while the red wine takes some of the edge off my nerves. We choose entrees, a mushroom risotto for her and spaghetti putanesca for me.

"It was almost seven years ago. I was about a year younger than Lucas is now, when I came to Princeton for a very prestigious fellowship on diagnostic medicine. Working under a world-class diagnostician named Gregory House."

"I'm guessing he's the guy. Your boss and teacher."

"That's right. He's twelve years older than me. Drop-dead gorgeous, in a scruffy sort of way. A couple of inches shorter than Lucas, large blue-gray eyes that see right through you. In good shape, but physically damaged. A permanent limp, a cane, cronic pain that he self-medicates with heavy painkillers. The smartest man I've ever known. Childish, self-centered behavior, huge defensive walls hiding a tender heart. After one week I was done, wrapped up and tied with a pink bow."

I can't avoid smiling. "So?"

"At first, I was just a naive kid. I know that sounds weird. I had done college, medical school and a three-year residence in endocrinology. I was a widow."

My eyes open wide. "A widow?"

"I fell in love during medical school. Robert. He was under treatment for cancer. He died two years later."

"Why do you say you were a kid?"

"Because I was! Nerds that become doctors can be pretty sheltered. You convince yourself it's all high ideals, you know, saving lives using your intelligence and skill. You buy into a ton of naive crap. When I met House it was a revolution. Not only I was incredibly attracted to him, he turned my well-ordered, carefully built professional personna inside out. You'll never believe what is the first lesson in House's training school."

"What is it?"

"Everybody lies."

I laugh. "I know that."

We only saw what people call medical puzzles. Patients with conditions nobody can figure out. Nobody but bad boy genius Dr. House and his team of trained monkeys. In these cases, you have to distrust everything. The patient, the family, the history, the labs, the other doctors, and yourself."

"So, he teaches distrust, and you learn it."

"Not a good starting point."

"And you say I can trust Lucas... never mind. Time passes, and, at the end?"

"He respects me, all right. I think he is afraid he is not enough. Too old, too damaged."

She brightens when talking about him. "How does he really feel about you?"

She preens a bit. She knows she's hot, the slut. I picture an understated, sexy outfit that would suit her, to turn the head of her bad boy genius. "He is not oblivious. As I said, at first, he had no respect for me. I was just kid he had to teach. After a couple of years, things begun to change, but it got complicated. He pushed me away. An ex-wife showed up. He got into trouble with his pain pill addiction. I got married to a co-worker..."

"Wait a second. You did what?"

"I know. It was stupid. It didn't last."

"Shit, Allie. Why did you do it?"

"At one point I had just given up. This stupid guy was really in love with me, and it begun to feel good to the ego, to have him around. Also, it drove House crazy."

"And then divorce. And you left."

"That's right. That was about a year ago."

"Do you think you guys still have a shot? After all this time?"

This time the smile is sad. "He's sniffing around. He wants me back in Princeton. In other words, maybe."

"Wow. Good luck."

"Thanks. The tricky thing is that he is broken. He cannot be trusted. I don't know if it can work. And I have no idea if I can ever be enough for him."

I touch her arm. "I can't imagine you not being enough. For anybody. He's a lucky guy."

She smiles again at me. "I'm beginning to get the same impression about you."

We skip dessert, and she pays for the meal. We stand outside the restaurant.

"Thanks. This really helped."

She gives me a kiss in the cheek. "Look, I here for you. If you need a friend..."

"We should do this again. And I'd love to meet your bad boy genius someday."

She laughs. "I'm not so sure you'd enjoy the experience. He's not housebroken."

"I don't frighten easily."

"I'm sure you don't. Good luck, Brooke."

"You too."

I get home to an empty apartment. It's close to nine. I climb up the stairs two steps at a time and knock. Lucas answers, a serious look in his face, but a slightly ironic tone in his voice. "Hello, Miss Davis."

"Mr. Scott. How's your patient?"

"Crampy, sad and medicated. I've just served us some soup. Care to join us?"

"Thanks, but I had dinner with your ex."

He seems surprised. "Really?" A small smile floats around his lips. "Should I be worried?"

I laugh. "No. We mostly talked about her. No details about your dirty sex life."

His eyes flash and latch onto mine. "I'm sorry to hear that. Her reviews should be..."

"Good?"

A satisfied smile. "Rave."

"Ego, much?"

"Just a fact."

I touch his chest with the tips of my fingers, seeking his warmth and his heartbeat. "I can hardly wait to sample the goods."

He breaks eye contact and steps back a bit. "I'm glad you went to her. She's one of the good guys, and you both can use a friend."

"True." I grab his arm and pull him to the kitchen area. Rachel is sitting at the table, wearing a t-shirt and boxer shorts. Her hair tied in a simple ponytail, and her eyes look glazed. She is focused on the soup in front of her.

"Hey, girl."

She turns to me and manages a weak smile. "Hey."

"How are things?"

"Lucas has been taking good care of me. Where have you been?"

"Out and about. I needed a little time to think."

"And?"

I smile. "We'll see. We should focus on you, though."

"I'm finishing this soup and I'm going back to bed. I think I'm staying here tonight." She looks at Lucas.

"That's fine, Red. Stay as long as you want."

"When do you go back to work?"

"Next week. Lucas says that in two or three days I should be good as new. At least physically. Well, almost. Two weeks without intercourse."

Lucas puts his arm on her shoulders, in a half hug, and she leans on him. "I'm trying to convince her to see a therapist. Talk about things."

"He is right, you know. It couldn't hurt."

"This is not really my thing."

I glare at her. "I could always call Mountain to come for a visit."

She looks panicked. "Brooke!"

Lucas turns to me. "The father?"

I nod. "They love each other. But I think he would never forgive her."

"All right, you whore!" She turns to Lucas. "Will you set up an appointment?"

"Of course."

I turn to Lucas. "Do you have any fruit?"

"A ripe mango, strawberries and a cantaloupe. Serve yourself."

"Do you guys want some?" They both nod.

I prepare three bowls of fruit while they finish their soup and I sit with them.

We distract ourselves talking nonsense while we eat the fruit. Rachel shuffles to her room. Lucas gives her some medicine and tucks her in, while I put the dishes in the dishwasher and clean up. Lucas comes back into the kitchen. "I gave her a sedative. If you want to say goodnight, I'll finish cleaning up."

I enter her bedroom and her eyes are already half closed. "Good night, slut."

"He's a great guy, whore. Get your head out of your ass."

I pass my hand through her hair, and I give her a kiss in the forehead. "I'll try. Sweet dreams." Her eyes close.

When I get back to the kitchen, Lucas is putting away the rest of the soup. "She's asleep. Thank you."

"Nothing to thank."

"She's the only family I have. Thank you."

He shrugs. "You're welcome."

We get out of the kitchen. He grabs a bottle of scotch from his bookcase. "A nightcap?"

I shake my head. I need a clear head for what comes next. He serves himself and sips, staring straight at me with a kind smile on his face. I try to get a hold of the desperate longing I have for him, and put it all in a box, and tuck it away, in the back of my head.

"Do you want to fuck me? I'm yours if you do."

A concerned crease appears between his eyes, and his smile disappears. "Of course I want to fuck you."

I begin to undo the buttons of my blouse. "Let's do it, then."

He comes close and grabs my hands, still looking straight into my eyes. "I want a lot more than fucking, Brooke."

"I'm a slut, Lucas. I fuck boys. That's all I have to offer right now."

His lips turn into a thin slash, as the crease between his eyes deepens. "I'd rather wait, then. Until you have more to offer."

I pout, and I can see the struggle with his own desire. Oh, he wants me. I know he does. "It may never happen, you know."

"I'll take that chance."

I nod, and I allow my heart to soar a bit. This is going to follow my timing, at least for now. "I'd like to take you out on a date."

His face relaxes. "I'd like that."

"Friday. Seven. Dress casual."


	10. Chapter 10

AN: A small update, just to get this story back on track. Took me long enough, I know. I don't promise frequent updates, but I do plan to finish both this story and Hurricane. Next update, their date.

Chapter 10

 **Brooke**

She's very pretty, oval face with large blue eyes, a pert little nose and a broad mouth with slightly protruding lower lip. Long, straight dark blonde hair. Tall, five-nine, maybe five ten with grown-up b-cup breasts, a coltish narrow figure with long legs and a little baby fat here and there. Emily. Fourteen, maybe a very young fifteen. She's shopping for underwear with daddy's credit card, and she's chosen a few items that daddy would not approve. A little red lacy pair with matching demitasse and an angelic white set, even skimpier, that would drive your neighborhood pervert insane. Now she's choosing a babydoll, and on Brooke's advice, she's picking a transparent little number that ends about two-thirds of the way down her buttocks. Behind a helpful poker face, Brooke is surprising herself about how uncomfortable she is with this sale.

"So," Emily asks. "What do you think?"

"Your boyfriend is going to love it." At Emily's age, Brooke would drink herself into a stupor and wake up just about anywhere with anyone. It took another year or so, and two curable STDs, before she learned not drink quite as much, and choose boys who actually knew about condoms. The girl seems a good deal more innocent.

"I think he will." She twirls around, checking herself in the mirror. "For the first time, the red or the white?"

"Your first time, or his?"

"Mine, silly." She gives a proud smile. "He's a senior!" Brooke sighs. She knows life can be very rough with this kind of innocence.

"The white one." Emily nods. "Keep the red for a special occasion."

After the cashier, Brooke accompanies Emily to the door. "Thank you, Brooke."

"No, thank you, Emily. Hope things work out well for you."

"Bye."

Emily turns around and steps outside. Brooke raises her voice a bit. "Emily, wait!"

The girl can't hide a little irritation. "What?"

Brooke writes her name and phone on a piece of paper, handing it to Emily. "Look. If you need anything. A friendly ear, a shoulder to cry on, a ride home, a place to crash or even some discreet medical advice, just call, please. No judgment, ok?"

The girl stares at her for a bit, frowning. Then she looks at the scrap of paper. "Thanks, I guess." Then she turns around and walks away. Brooke stares at the girl's back, betting with herself that the scrap of paper will end up in a garbage bin in the next two blocks. Still, giving it out did make her heart a little lighter.

A voice, low register with a suggestion of laughter comes from behind her. "You must be Brooke."

Brooke jumps half a foot. "Shit! You scared me."

"Sorry. I'm Callie."

Brooke turns around and looks at the woman. Broad shoulders, strong, beautiful face, velvety cafe-au-lait coloring, bright eyes and a truly engaging smile directed at her. "You mean Lucas' boss?"

"That's right, babe. Ally told me you'd be around."

Brooke looks embarrassed. "I'm sorry. Did you hear that?"

"Yes I did."

"I know. It was unprofessional."

Callie laughs and shakes her head. "Allie is right about you. Mouthwatering little package with a golden heart. No wonder Lucas walks around with that silly little grin."

Brooke smiles back, blushing a bit, "Thanks. And he hasn't sampled the goods yet. Just wait and see."

Callie laughs again. "Cheeky too." She puts her arm around Brooke and pulls her inside. "Tell me about the kid."

"She's a high school freshman. Dropped five hundred bucks on naughty underwear to inspire her upperclassman boyfriend and lose her V. Came across as a very innocent airhead. It just didn't sit right with me."

Callie nods. "Not your place to interfere, so you just offer a little support and hope for the best."

Brooke shrugs. "Yeah."

Callie smile widens. "You already know a difficult lesson we struggle to teach interns ten years older than you. Very good job, Brooke."

Brooke feels her face hot with pleasure and embarrassment. "Thanks." She gets a hold of herself and puts on her professional mask. "Welcome to Victoria's Secret. How can we help you today?"

"I'm looking for a birthday gift for my wife."

"Penny. Redhead, shy, very pretty."

"Yeah, that one. So, Lucas talks about us."

"Yup. He says you're a genius. He also says your daughter is a cutie. Sofia, right?"

"Right. That she is. A bit spoiled, though. And I'm not sure about the genius part."

"I'd trust Lucas." They stop next to the good stuff. "Tell me about your wife."

"Redhead, very fair, freckles everywhere. About five foot five, size four with C-cups. Too straightlaced for her own good."

"Hm." Brooke picks up two matching sets. "With that kind of coloring, you should try deep jewel tones." She picks a darkish emerald green set and a skimpier turquoise one, the green in lace-trimmed satin, and the turquoise one in very soft silk. She goes to another rack and picks up a pair of diaphanous babydolls. A light green one and a light blue one. "What do you think?"

"Oh, I love the turquoise one. She's gonna look so scrumptious..." Callie grabs the pair and the blue babydoll and heads for the cashier.

"Wouldn't you like to look at something for yourself?" Brooke whispers as Callie passes by her.

Callie turns back. "Oh, you... what do you suggest?"

Brooke checks her out slowly. "Well... with your coloring and build, something white and... just a minute." Brooke comes back with a white push-up bustier and lace boy shorts. "This is to go with stockings, and a sheer slip..."

Callie feels the fabric of the bustier between her fingers. "You're good, girl." She holds up the lace shorts against the light. "Very good."

Brooke smiles. "I know what sexy looks like. Wanna try it?"

"Sure."

Callie is clearly very pleased when she steps out of the dressing room. Brooke can't hide her surprise. The woman is one very hot milf. "Fuck!"

"That's the idea, girlfriend."

"That's a birthday gift."

"The outfit?"

"No, you. The outfit is just wrapping. How is your grind?" Brooke does a little sexy grinding to show what she means. Callie follows along, putting her arms up and letting go a little, surprising Brooke again. "You'll do." Brooke shakes her head and smiles. "When is the birthday?"

"In a couple of weeks. We're going to have a little dinner party at home. Hope you and Lucas will be there. You can bring your friend too. Rachel, right?"

Brooke nods, a little intimidated by the idea. "Right."

Callie notices Brooke's discomfort. "Hey." She grabs the young woman in a hug. Brooke lets herself be hugged, enjoying the warm feeling. Callie lets he go, holding Brooke by the shoulders. "We're not that bad."

Brooke looks into Callie's eyes. She thinks of herself and Rachel in a party with a bunch of friends of Lucas. "I'm just not ready to be a grown up yet."

Callie giggles. Brooke frowns. "What?"

"I'm not either." She gives a hard slap in Brooke's left buttock.

"Hey!" Brooke laughs. "That hurt!"

"Sorry." A little caress in the slapped buttock. "Pity we're both taken and you're straight."

Brooke flips her hair and gives Callie a little pout. "You're not my type anyways."

 **Lucas**

The boy on the table is twenty, a bike messenger. He's got compound fractures on both femurs, and extensive soft tissue damage, for being crushed between an SUV's rear bumper and a brick wall. Twenty years ago, he would probably lose both legs, but prospects these days are much better. Callie recommended he do both legs in one surgery. While he's been repairing the left leg, where the compound fracture was a bit gnarly, the right leg had a simpler double fracture, and the fourth year resident on the other side of the table is already closing off his incision.

"Numbers?" Lucas asks without lifting his eyes from the surgical field.

 **"** BP one hundred over sixty, heart rate is eighty, oxy is nominal and he's been under for five hours. He's good for another hour."

He finishes placing the screws that will keep the two longitudinal rods in place, anchoring them to the bone. He extends his hand holding the screwdriver. "half hook, four-oh suture." He begins closing the incision.

He addresses the resident, a thin african-american young woman with nimble fingers and a taste for ortho's simple pleasures. "Jackie."

"Yes, sir?"

"Good job."

"Thank you, sir." Lucas hasn't been around long enough for the residents to relax around him. "Anything else, sir?"

"Please find the family and update them. We'll be done in about forty minutes. Everything went fine, and he should make a full recovery."

"I would prefer to stay and watch, sir." Lucas smiles to himself. Sometimes people have a hard time understanding an order that begins with the word "please".

"We're done with the hard stuff. It's all suturing in layers and placing drains now. The family takes precedence. I'll leave post-op instructions in writing with his chart. Be sure to check on him tomorrow by seven, and contact me with anything unexpected."

She gets away from the table and turns around without comment. Lucas sighs. That one won't be relaxing around him anytime soon.

After closing and updating the patient's chart, I drag myself out of the operating room, and go to my office. I grab a bottle of water, drinking it as my mind drifts back to my Brooke. My Brooke... really? A kiss and my bed. I guess the kiss will wait until tomorrow, but I can definitely head to my bed now. I change into my street clothes, still daydreaming about a certain young brunette...

I find the family at the Operating Center waiting room. It's an older hispanic woman, a pretty teenage girl and four young man in grunge clothes. Lucas addresses the old woman. "Hi, I'm Dr. Lucas Scott, and I was the surgeon in charge of Marcos' procedure."

The old woman gets up and shakes my hand weakly. "I'm Rosario Gomez, Marcos abuela. This is his sister Concepcion, and these are Jay, Clyde, Abe and Stone." She pauses a bit. "Is he going to be ok?"

"I believe so, Ms. Gomez. Complications are always possible after surgery. However, everything went very well, he is young and strong. In time, he should make a full recovery. The damage he suffered was extensive. He will be off his feet for several months, and after that, he will have several months of painful physical therapy to recover strength and mobility."

"I understand. Thank you Dr. Scott"

"It's my job, Ms. Gomez. Do you have any questions?"

"Do you know how long he will stay at the hospital?"

"Without complications, about one week. I'll come by tomorrow morning to check on him, and I'll be able to answer additional questions."

The old woman grabs Lucas right hand on both of hers. "Thank you, Doctor."

"You're welcome." I turn to the boys. "Can you explain what happened?"

One of the boys replies. "Sure, doc." Pulling me aside, he speaks in a close whisper. "It was Lucy. She's the niece of the guy who owns the messenger service we all work for. Marco was banging her for a while, but she started getting sticky and he dumped her. That was a couple of weeks ago. Today she was in the car, in the alley behind the office, about to have a driving lesson. Marco was behind the car, and he was distracted, talking on the phone. She pretended it was an accident, putting it on reverse, but everyone knows it was payback for dumping her."

"This is pretty serious. Did you call the police?" I already knew the answer, since nobody came around to discuss the extent of the injury.

"Nah. Her uncle wanted to keep it quiet. He said he would give Marcos ten grand."

"That's nowhere near enough. Just the hospital bills will be more than a hundred grand, and recovery might cost that much again. He needs a lawyer."

"A couple of shitheads have already been around sniffing."

"He needs someone good. Give me a minute." I call John Wells. After a little grumbling for the late call, I get a referral for a personal injury attorney. Then I go back to Ms. Gomez and give her one of my personal cards, with the name and phone number of the lawyer in the back. "Call this guy, Ms. Gomez. He's a tiburon, but you do need one of those in your corner."

"Thank you again, young man. God bless you and yours."

"Same to you, ma'm."

I was really dragging myself by the time I got into the car and drove home. It is a little past midnight when I climb up the stairs, cursing the delay in the permits for the elevator work. I open the front door, leaving my shoes and my briefcase along the way. I'm halfway down the buttons of my shirt when I get the best surprise ever. There she is, sitting in the sofa, quietly reading a book.

"Hey."

She puts the book aside and gets up. She's wearing a comfy looking dark blue satin teddy and a thousand watt smile. "Hey." She dives right in. "I me Callie today at the store. Very sexy, that boss of yours." She waves her hands. "Never mind that. She told me you had a long, difficult surgery this afternoon, so you'd be home late and dead..."

I cross the space between us in two steps, and interrupt her with a kiss. It takes her half a second to get into it, crossing her arms around my neck, while I grab her buttocks and pull her up against me. She crosses her legs around my waist and we lose ourselves in the kiss. While our tongues caress, she makes this tiny little moaning noise deep in her throat, which would become my favorite sound.

We pull apart. "You may not believe this, but I've been dreaming of this kiss all day long."

She laughs. "I believe you. I've been thinking of you all day too, and I thought I'd have to wait until tomorrow to see you, but then I thought, what the heck..." She stops, seeing I can barely stand. "Do you want anything?"

"Half a glass of warm milk and my bed. Maybe another kiss."

"Go to your room, put on your pj's and lie down. I'll be right there with the milk and your kiss."

"Boxers all right? Haven't used pj's since I left home for college."

"No problem. You look just fine in your boxers, boyfriend."

I brush my teeth, the word "boyfriend" keeping me company, and I head for bed. Brooke comes in about twenty seconds later, with the milk and a peck in the lips.

"Thanks." I set the empty glass aside and get myself under the covers. Brooke lies down beside me. "What..."

"What? You're kicking me out of your bed?"

"Of course not. It's just that I'm too tired..."

"I know." She snuggles up, playing with my chest hairs and laying her head on my arm. "It's just for the company."

I'm too exhausted to try to understand, and too pleased to care. I wrap her in my arms, and smell the cinnamon scent of her hair. She wiggles around, turning her back to me and snuggling even closer. I turn the lights off. As I fall asleep, I mumble. "My Christmas morning..."

In the darkness, Brooke feels Lucas falling asleep. His Christmas morning? She wonders what that is all about. She closes her eyes, feeling Lucas all around her, his strong body against hers, his scent, the soft noise of his breathing. A wonderful feeling of peace comes over her. Maybe for the first time since she was a little girl, she is exactly where she wants to be. Brooke is home.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

 **Brooke**

I'm not a slow starter. Unless I've been drinking, or slept very little, when I open my eyes, I'm full on. Current situation is familiar. Waking up in a strange bed, strong arms around me and an erection pressing against my buttocks. I wiggle a bit. A nice, large one, it seems. The feeling... Giddy? Is that the word? I feel like getting up and doing a little victory dance. Or maybe I'd rather stay quiet in his arms and think about what I'd like to do with that hard-on.

Staying quiet doesn't work for very long. I'm too restless. I get up, trying not to wake up Lucas. He grumbles a bit, tosses around, but goes on sleeping. He was dead tired last night, so it is only fair that he sleeps some more. I head downstairs. The door to the bedroom is open, and Rachel is curled up, the sheets wrapped around her. Sign of a restless night. I pick up some clothes and step out of my closet. Then I stare at Rachel for a while. We're close, like sisters, or maybe more. She's hurt. I love her and I know she needs me. Still...

I head back up. Lucas is still asleep, so I shower and change. Just a light blue summer dress, one of my designs, my hair tied in a loose ponytail. I check myself in the mirror. Without make-up I look young enough to get my boyfriend a jail sentence. Once we get around to doing it, of course. I climb on his bed and kneel next to him. He feels the bed moving and begins to wake up. He squints at me, his clever baby blues clouded with sleep. "Hmm. Brooke?"

I look at him, kneeling neatly with my hands on my lap. "Good morning." I need a little help from him.

He smiles at me. "Good morning." Then he takes in my serious face and frowns. He sits up, stretching a bit. "Are you breaking up with me?"

My heart beats a little happy tattoo. The bit of fear in his tone is the sweetest sound ever. My boy has it as bad as I do. I reply softly. "No, I'm not going anywhere, boyfriend." He smiles back, and I feel like a little puddle.

"So, what is it, then?"

I breathe in and dive right in. "What do you do when someone you care about does something really bad?"

He frowns as he looks me in the eye. "Rachel" He sighs, showing sadness as my expression confirms it.

I let it out. "Try as I might, I can't stop thinking of the little baby, and the father. He's a very nice guy, and he was really in love with her. I get it why she did it. I really do. And I know it was her right. She needs me, Lucas. I can see she does. I'm worried about her. I've never seen her like this, and we've been through a lot. I love her, I'm sad and worried but I'm angry too. I'm really angry. And I don't know what to do with that." In the middle of my tirade, tears begin to roll down.

He slides against me and wraps me his arms. I hide my face on his naked chest and climb on his lap, letting all my defenses down. I cry for Rachel, Mountain and their baby, and for myself. I hate feeling so weak, and I love it at the same time. Lucas stays silent, but he rocks me slowly. After a few minutes I stop crying and I just enjoy the warmth, twirling his chest hairs in my fingers. I hide my embarrassment on his chest, but when I lift my face, all I can see is the bright blue of his eyes on mine. I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him.

 **Lucas**

The kiss begins hesitant, innocent, almost shy. After the way she opened up to me, I'm afraid to say or do the wrong thing. I try to express how much I care for her with the kiss. The innocence doesn't last. She opens her mouth and her tongue dashes out, meeting mine. We shift, her breasts pressing into my naked chest, her ass grinding against my lap. I let out a needy moan, as we deepen the kiss, and our mutual hunger asserts itself. Before I can even think, I'm out of my boxers, and, sliding effortlessly, I'm deep inside her. We kiss, her hands holding both sides of my face, her legs wrapped around my waist. She mewls my name, doing a desperate grind while I try to help her, encouraging her movement with my hands on her buttocks. She is tight, and I'm so deep inside I can feel myself hitting her cervix. I'm at a hair trigger, so it doesn't last long. I can feel a volcanic orgasm coming. I try to slow it down, but she just growls, pushing deeper, grinding faster. As I come, I feel her pressing against me, her muscles tensing in her own orgasm, pulling me even deeper and sucking me dry.. A little noise, right from the back of her throat joins my own moans, as I empty myself on her, six or seven jets of genetic material right into the back of her womb.

Emotionally and physically spent, I lie down, pulling her with me. She lies on top of me, cuddling, as I turn flaccid while still inside her. My mind floats to an old movie sequence, my swimmers talking, while racing towards a talking giant sphere. The fresh package of condoms inside my night stand mocking me.

We're both reluctant to break the silence. I'm a little shocked at how suddenly things went down. She's the first one to whisper.

"Damn."

I lift my head. She's frowning at me, and I feel a little jolt of anxiety, frowning back. "What?"

Her voice is soft. "I didn't want our first time to be a stupid pity fuck."

I struggle, without success, to find an answer to that. Finally, I just give up and shrug. "I hope next time you'll at least take off your panties."

She stares at me, and after a second, gives a thin smile. "Presumptuous, no?"

My heart skips a bit. "Sorry..."

She is quick to backstep. "I'm just kidding."

We stare at each other. Our first painfully awkward moment. I realize how little we actually know each other. Suddenly, the dam bursts. She giggles, and I start laughing. Then, both of us are lying down side-by side, laughing our heads off. It's still awkward, but the laughter drains away much of the tension. As we quiet down, we lie in parallel, facing each other.

"Brooke..."

"What?"

"Thank you."

She smiles sadly. "For the sex?"

"No. For opening up. I know it took guts. _"_

She extends a hand and caresses my face. "Trust, boyfriend. More than guts."

I place my hand on top of hers."It was no pity fuck."

She looks into my eyes, and I can see little wheels turning inside her head. "I think I knew that. I was just kinda being bitchy."

I smile, entranced by the unending landscape that is Brooke Davis. "You told me that fucking was all you had to offer. But you give me so much more."

She snorts. "I'm just a broken girl, boyfriend. Keep me off that pedestal."

"Fine. We have a long, long way to go."

"Go where?"

"A long way to turn this crazy thing between us into something real. We barely know each other."

She stretches, humming softly. "Real, schmeal. You're a bit pompous sometimes."

I can't help laughing. "Writer and doctor. A common professional flaw in both cases."

She pouts. "Hm. Pompous." She gets up, lifts up her dress and removes her panties, smeared with fluids from both of us. She casually tosses the panties at me. Then she sticks two fingers inside herself, pulls them out, and looks at them, frowning cutely. She puts them in her mouth, sucking them and deadpans. "Hmm. Nice, salty, with a hint of red fruit. Long velvety finish."

It's both incredibly erotic and funny. As I laugh, she does it again and offers me the fingers. I feel seriously tempted in tasting it directly from the source, but I know where that would lead. Trouble is, I really want to take my time going there, and I have work to do today. So, I enjoy licking her fingers instead. All I get is slightly salty and the mixed smells of spunk and pussy. And a girlfriend who is looking pleased with herself. "What's your day looking like?"

"I have a meeting with my boss at two. Otherwise I'm flexible. You?"

"I want to stop at the Hospital to check on a patient. Then I need to go to Tarrytown. Wanna come? I'll have you back here long before your meeting."

Brooke thinks about it a bit. "Thanks, but no thanks. I'm going to work a little on my business plan, and then head to the atelier. I want to put an idea I have on paper before the meeting. I'll see you at seven for our date."

"Any instructions on apparel?"

"A nice dark suit. Leave the tie to me." With a long kiss and a bit of regret, we go our separate ways for the day.

 **Brooke**

It's past ten, and the apartment is still quiet. Rachel has been drugged up to the gills, so it's likely I still have a little time before she wakes up. I look at my bank balance, and I can't avoid feeling a bit heartbroken. The check for the car cleared yesterday. I know my little bug was just collecting dust, but I loved that car. The car, a couple of choice bits of jewelry and my parent's parting gift brought my investment account to close to one hundred and thirty grand. It's simple math. Now I have just enough cash to make my fly-on-a-shoestring business plan doable.

It's going to an be insane couple of years.

There are complications. I've read my contract with Victoria's Secret very carefully. It looks like they have no claim on my designs, but I need to confirm this with an industry lawyer. I have to complete my contract with them, because quitting early triggers a nasty non-compete clause. I need to work on my designer degree and I've already convinced myself I'll have to get an MBA as well. That is, if I want money people to take me seriously.

And I want to spend time with my boyfriend.

Thinking of him makes all the rates-of-return, marketing strategies and implementation schedules fly right out of my brain. I can still feel his big dick snug inside me, his blue eyes on mine and the taste of his cum. I recall this morning's quickie and my hand moves to a little moist spot.

I'm easily distracted. Not a good thing for an aspiring fashion mogul.

I save my work and shut down the computer. The business plan is basically done, I'm just fiddling with details now. I wish I had another twenty grand or so. My budget is tight, and I would love to have a cushion, in case something does not go as planned.

As I walk out, I get back to my favorite snag. I need a name. Catchy, trendy. Something fresh. Fashion Salad? Raspberry Rags? Nah. No food. I think of a pretty young woman, going for a makeover after dumping her latest squeeze. A new look. Freshly Squeezed? Damn. What's with the foodie names? Maybe I'm hungry.

 **Lucas**

I'm about to enter the elevator when I hear my name. I turn around, to see my boss' boss walking fast in my direction, pointy heels clacking in the hard floor. "Good morning, Dr. Marsh."

"Dr. Scott."

The impolite greeting annoys me a bit. It must be the southern boy my mother raised. I give her a cold smile. "Can I help you?"

"I'd like a word. My office?"

I frown. "Now?"

"Unless you have something urgent..."

I shrug. "No, that's fine."

We take the elevator to her floor and walk together in silence, until we reach her office. Her walk is stiff, and her shoulders tense. Her manner is intended to intimidate, but the effect is lost in me. People in finance call a bank balance like mine 'fuck you money'. If I get mad, I can just say 'fuck you' and walk out.

She sits behind her desk and I stand in front of it. She picks up a folder and begins to look at it. "Twelve days ago you brought Rachel Gattina, age eighteen, into our ER. You requested a blood panel and a pregnancy test, and, when it came out positive, you requested a OB-Gyn consult and had a vaginal sonogram made to verify age and the health of the embryo. You signed the prontuary as the girl's physician of record. Then a week later Miss Gattina came back for a termination. According to records you also personally covered Miss Gattina medical bill. Almost four thousand dollars."

I smile. "That is all correct."

She stares at me, expecting that I will try to explain, or justify myself. I just stay quiet, waiting. After about a minute she decides to continue. "It is against the law to act as physician of record for a woman expecting your child, Dr. Scott."

"I am well aware of that, Dr. Marsh." I exaggerate my drawl a bit. "Unfortunately, I was never intimate with Miss Gattina."

She frowns and steps right in it. "Unfortunately?"

I smile. "She is a very attractive young woman."

Her voice acquires a shrill undertone. "Why did you pay for her termination, then?"

"I am sorry, ma'm. That's none of your business."

She seems to deflate a bit. There is still malice in her voice when she continues. "Very well. I'm also informed you are in a relationship with one of our attendings..." she checks her folder. "A Dr. Allison Cameron. You are aware that hospital rules discourages such relationships."

"Yes." I cross my arms across my chest. "I find your interest in my personal life a little... disturbing."

She raises her voice a bit. "Dr. Scott! The position you occupy at this hospital has great visibility and strategic importance. Two of our board members have expressed specific interest in your work here, and several of our regular donors are connected with the Knickerbockers. It is imperative that you maintain a measure of decorum in your personal life. Bringing a pregnant teenager into this hospital for a questionable pregnancy termination while maintaining a relationship with one of our permanent staff is not full compliance with the morals clause of your contract."

I sigh. The Cameron-Scott plug patent application will have to wait a bit. "We will have to agree to disagree on that, Dr. Marsh."

She points a finger at me. "Consider yourself warned, Dr. Scott. Keep your nose clean, or your fellowship will be summarily canceled."

According to my contract she would need a majority vote of the Hospital board, and concurrence from the corporation that owns the team to dismiss me without heavy penalties. Since she is probably as aware of that as I am, I'll let her threat slide as so much hot air. "Very well, Dr. Marsh. Anything else?"

She sits straight in her desk and her voice regains the professional polish. "In a couple of months, the Board holds its annual benefits gala event. The board requests that you give a brief presentation on the contract between Mount Sinai and the Knickerbockers."

The distaste in her voice is unmistakable. This is probably the actual reason for her interest in my personal life. Trying to find a reason for the board to withdraw its request. I understand, and even sympathise with her reasons. Surely a young fellow managing a sports medicine contract is not the best medicine a world-class hospital has to showcase. Her strategy, however, royally sucks. "Length?"

"Ten to fifteen minutes. There will be three other presentations, by the heads of Oncology, Pediatrics and General Surgery. There are millions of dollars of funding riding on this, so don't screw up."

"I'll do my best."

As I close her door and head back to the elevator, my mind heads straight to Brooke. I usually hate these stuffy events. But with her in my arm... what happens if she gets bored? I can hardly wait to find out.

 **Brooke**

I put the finishing touches in my sketch. It's a vaporous babydoll, lace-trimmed, with an inch-wide satin cinch in a complementary color. A couple of staff designers come around, giving unsolicited advice and just plain gawking at my work. I'm sure similar designs will pop-up, as the atelier looks a little more predatory than I expected. I do a high-resolution scan of my drawing and use a graphics tool to produce images of alternative color schemes for the same outfit. I print three alternative-scheme versions and place the original hand-drawing and the printed copies in a portfolio folder.

I stop by the restroom to retouch my make-up and get ready for the meeting. I'm still floating a bit over this morning's ittie bittie fuck. The meeting, though... I turned in my sketches as soon as we arrived in New York. Twenty-one little ideas. Today I'm gonna hear, whatever! Shit! Fuck! I have a date tonight. And I'm gonna screw my boyfriend blind this weekend. Fuck this meeting...

The receptionist is still the same insane creature. When I arrive, she has her feet on her desk and she is painting her toenails. Dark blue, which looks good on her feet. "Monica, right?"

She doesn't bother looking at me and just grunts, pointing a thumb at our boss' door. I walk past her and open the door without knocking. Veronique is sitting behind her desk. There's also two women and a men, sitting around her office, and an empty chair clearly waiting for me. "Brooke! Excellent timing. Come in, sit down. Let me introduce you around. Guys, this is Brooke Davies. Brooke, these are Marie Solow, from Marketing, Jessica Biel, fashion strategist, working on the team that's putting together our Spring line and John Silva, from production."

I wave. "Hi guys. Nice to meet you." Veronique was her friendly self, velvet over steel. Marie looked pleasant, Jessica cold and serious and the guy looked just annoyed.

Veronique opened a folder and dived right in. "You presented us with twenty-one designs. Of these, sixteen do not interest us at all. We have a detailed written report, which we suggest you examine carefully. Of the other six, two we are willing to place in production without further modification." Those were a top-and-bottom pajama set in very light cotton with the Pink's dog stamped on the top, and the words 'hot Pink' on the left buttock cheek and an exercise drawstring shorts. "The other four can be used, with some changes."

The next two hours were a grueling, and exhilarating, lesson in modern mass-market fashion. The marketing girl spoke of taste trends, and precisely how some of my designs were not tracking them properly. I took this with a grain of salt, as I see the real designers leading the trends, not following them, but I promised to study a recent in-house document about it and to adjust my designs in accordance with her suggestions. The other woman talked about the thinking behind the Spring catalog, and how to make a coherent collection. She requested a few changes on color patterns and materials, plus details that would give the collection some conceptual coherence. The guy was by far the worst. He spoke of tensile strengths, differential stretching, joining of different materials, industrial stitching and the effect of repeated washings on cloth and stitching. He called me an ignorant fool, and informed me I was to spend every morning for the next three months at the production office in the Garment District, learning about materials and industrial fashion assemblage.

Despite feeling I had been run over by a bus, I was fully aware that this meeting was the highest compliment I had ever received.

Finally Veronique asks. "So, is there anything else?"

"I've finished a design this morning."

"Let's see." I fish the sketches from my portfolio and hand them to Veronique. She smiles and passes them around. Marie and Jessica whisper to each other and John stands next to Veronique, pointing to something in the hand-drawn version. "Will you wait outside for a bit, Brooke?"

"Sure."

I sit in Monica's chair, as the crazy one was not around. About ten minutes later. Marie, Jessica and John leave, and Veronique beckons me back to her office. We both sit again, and the smile on her face is the warmest I have seen. "We will take the babydoll too, if you adjust the sketches to the catalog's colors and make the lace-fabric stitching accord to the company's standards."

"Thank you." She picks up an envelope and slides it across her desk. "What is it?"

"A bonus. To show our appreciation for your outstanding work."

I pick up the envelope and put it in my purse, without opening it.

"As you know, your designs will be included in our Spring catalog. Time is short, so you will get another bonus, twice the size of the one you just got, if you deliver the finished sketches, incorporating the necessary changes, by this time next Friday." I open my mouth to protest, and close it again. That's a nearly impossible deadline, but I'm going to meet it. She continues. "Aside from your mini-internship in the Production Department, you will follow your designs through prototyping and shooting. Until that is done, you're off the design team and retail work. I'm also giving you a twenty percent raise."

"Again, thank you. This is a bit overwhelming."

"You exceeded my expectations, Brooke, which were already pretty high. One last thing. I'm having a party at my penthouse in two weeks. Saturday night, informal, mostly Company staff. The address is inside the envelope I just gave you. Bring a friend."

I'm out the building, walking home fast. The bonus is a check for ten grand. I let out a screaming "Fuck!" which makes a mother with two school-age children give me a well-deserved murderous glare. "Sorry." The second bonus will fit perfectly in my investment account, and this one... the Fall collections are going on sale. I'm thinking a couple of Kate Spades, one for me and another for my slutty best friend. A black Jimmy Choo and, just maybe, a Bottega outfit I was dying to try. And something for my boyfriend... "Shit!" This time a noisy bike is going by, and nobody hears it. The date. I've just been given what looks like a hundred hours of hard work to do in a week. There's no way I can take time off tonight. I promise myself I'll make it up to him. The best blow-job he's ever had, at least.

I just hope he doesn't get mad. Or worse, disappointed... I can take mad. But those baby blues... I shake my head. I'm Brooke Davis, aspiring fashion mogul. It's gonna be clothes first, boyfriends second. Hold it. Wait a second...


End file.
